Princess' Story Collection
by TheCrownprincessBride
Summary: A collection of Drabbles and Short Stories that are entirely unrelated, other than the fact that they are all full of adventures, magic, romance, and fantastic locations and creatures! LATEST: A Draco-Hermione friendship moment. What would've happened if Draco had escaped with the Trio from Malfoy Manor...? AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter - this applies to all following chapters.**

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 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompts: The Forbidden Forest is Forbidden for a reason**

 **Word count: 888**

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 **I know that in the Cursed Child book Albus is revealed to be in Slytherin, but, for the sake of the story, he's in Gryffindor here, so it's technically AU.**

 **Enjoy!**

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"Come on, Al. Don't be such a chicken," James said provocatively, giving his younger sibling a nudge with his elbow.

It was June and the sun was burning hot from the sky; they sat outside on one of the benches to study – well, Rose was studying. James tried to convince his brother Albus to venture out into the Forbidden Forest with him.

"I still think it's a stupid idea," Albus groaned and tried to focus on the notes for his last exam this afternoon. The Gryffindor wasn't sure why James wanted to go so badly or why he of all people should join him, but the sixth-year just wouldn't let it go. His older brother liked daring him to do something stupid. When he had been four, James had tricked him into licking one of the old socks that mysteriously turned up under couches or behind cupboards. Part of Albus still hadn't forgiven his brother for that – it had tasted worse than Skelegrow!

"Dad did it all the time," the Gryffindor protested, and Al's head snapped up. All of a sudden, he understood. Being the son of _the_ _Harry Potter_ wasn't easy. James, and even Albus himself – although he didn't like to admit it – felt obligated to prove that their bravery matched their father's.

Rose looked up as well and glared at them threateningly. "Don't you dare, boys! I don't think they called it _Forbidden_ Forest because it's a beautiful place for a stroll."

James rolled his eyes. "You sound like Aunt Hermione sometimes, you know?" Then his brown eyes wandered to Albus. "What d'you say?"

Albus wanted to open his mouth to protest, but somehow he found himself agreeing.

"And you Rosily?" James teased although he knew the answer.

"Don't call me that!" the redhead hissed. "And no! I have better things to do!" With that she stood up and walked briskly towards the castle.

"Yeah, like what? Kissing Scorpius in the library?" James muttered quietly and nudged Albus. "Meet you at nine outside the Common Room." Then he, too, made his way back towards the castle, having left Albus wondering if he shouldn't for once have showed more backbone and said 'no' to his brother.

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At precisely nine o'clock, Albus snuck out of the Common Room to meet James. As he left, however, he tripped over what seemed to be nothing at first glance. He managed to catch himself before he could fall down and turned around to where his brother was sniggering under his invisibility cloak.

"James!" he snarled, again filled with regret that he agreed to this in the first place. He wasn't any more pleased that their dad had thought it a good idea to give James the cloak before they boarded the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the year.

The other Gryffindor just chuckled, pulling him under the cloak. With the Marauders Map they managed to get to the edge of the Forbidden Forest without problems.

Although it was still light outside, the forest was already submerged in utter darkness. Only a few oblique sunrays made it through the thick canopy. Dead branches broke under their feet as they silently made their way deeper into the woods with their wands clutched in their hands. Albus sneered in distaste at the scent of rotten leaves mixed with the stink of wet dog. He could have sworn he heard wolves howl in the distance.

"It's not so bad, is it?" James said deliberately optimistic. But he too flinched with every flutter of wings unseen.

"Maybe we'll see thestrals," Albus quipped in a weak attempt to scare his older brother.

"You know we can't _actually_ see them, silly billy," he answered, trying to sound casual, but Albus saw how he glanced around cautiously.

Then they heard it – the beating of nearing paws on the forest floor, sounding like tumescent drumming, getting nearer and nearer.

"Didn't you say there were no wolves?" Albus asked in a faint voice, and he hated himself for it. He hated that he was scared, that his fingers still trembled although he tried with all his might to still them. His dad probably never had been scared, at least not of something as pathetic as wolves.

The sound of growling grew louder, and the earth seemed to shake with every footstep the beast made.

"I don't think _that_ 's a wolf," James stated flatly. It sounded more like something heavy, something gigantic, something extremely dangerous. They exchanged a glance and started running.

The monster was still behind them, they could hear branches cracking under its feet and its claws digging deep into the ground. They didn't stop until they had reached the edge of the forest; then they turned, feeling secure enough to face the creature.

They had expected everything but that. Not one but three heads with glowing eyes and bared teeth loomed over them. The sound of the hound's deep growling seemed to reverberate through their whole bodies.

"Merlin's saggy left –" James hissed.

"Run!" Albus screamed, interrupting his brother, and run they did.

Exhausted and out of breath, they reached the Gryffindor Common Room. Rose was waiting for them and looked up as soon as the two brothers entered. She glanced at their still terrified faces and smirked.

"I told you – the Forbidden Forest is forbidden for a reason."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Enjoy! And don't forget to review!**

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 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short Story**

 **Prompts:** "What do you mean, 'I thought you were dead'?"

 **Word count: 2, 189**

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It all had begun like a perfectly ordinary day for Rose.

First, she'd had breakfast at the Great Hall – porridge with some apple slices and a drop of syrup – and then had checked her schedule for any essays still to be done– finding, of course, none. Finally, she'd successfully escaped from Scorpius, who would have tried to ask her out for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend for what must be the hundredth time. Like the cherries on top, she had received an _Outstanding_ in her Transfiguration essay.

But then, just after lunch, everything had changed. Rose had been on her way from the Gryffindor Common Room down to the library, getting a head start on her NEWTs preparation, but the stairs had – unpredictable as they were – led her into a deserted hallway on the third floor. Instead of walking back up and taking a different set of stairs, she had decided to take this corridor and see where it would lead.

Being at Hogwarts for so long, she had thought she knew every last corner of the castle. She'd even found the Room of Requirement and a secret passageway to Hogsmeade on her own, without the help of her cousin or the Marauders Map. But she really wasn't sure if she had been in any of the rooms on this side of the third floor.

Curious as she was, she started to randomly open a few doors to find only empty, old, and dusty classrooms. However, eventually she found a locked door, which wouldn't open with a simple _Alohomora_. Smiling to herself, she set to work and cracked the locking-charm in less than two minutes.

Smiling proudly, she turned the handle to open the door, but without warning it was pushed open. She stumbled backwards in an attempt to escape the door, and her wand fell from her fingers. A student swayed out of the room, but not just any student! He had light blond hair, which seemed almost gold in the dim light, and stormy grey eyes, which held a look of utter desperation.

"Scor –" Rose whispered. But then, all of a sudden, the boy's knees gave in. He crashed to the ground like a felled tree, his head hitting the stone floor with a sickening thud. He didn't move. His right arm lay awkwardly under his body, and Rose thought that it must hurt; however, he didn't stretch it, just lay there, lifeless, like a puppet without its master.

"Scorpius?" she asked a little frightened and kneeled down next to him.

Then she saw it. Blood was oozing out from a wound in his chest, soaking his white shirt and green tie in crimson.

"Scorpius!" she cried out now and instinctively pressed her hands on the wound. But that didn't help. The blood ran through her fingers as if they weren't even there. Automatically, her eyes darted to his deathly pale face.

There was no flutter of lashes, no intake of breath, nothing that would indicate that he still was alive. Her heart stopped. _No_!

Almost hesitantly Rose whispered, "S-s-scorpius?" But he didn't move. "You can't be dead," she added as if by saying so she had established an unbreakable law that would prevent the boy from dying. She leaned over him to check his pulse, but there was nothing. No heartbeat, no pulse.

That couldn't be happening! She had just seen him at lunch, laughing with Albus and winking at her. How did he get up here? And what was in that awful room that had hurt him that much?

As always in situations like this, her mind took control, trying to solve the dilemma with logic. But inside she felt numb, cold, as if winter had reached out and now held her heart tightly in his icy fingers.

 _Stop the bleeding! Get help!_ her mind screamed at her, and she obeyed.

With clumsy fingers she reached for her wand, but stopped in mid-movement, realising that her hands were full of blood. She stared at them detachedly as if they weren't really her hands but somebody else's. It took her some effort to concentrate back on her task, but finally she managed to grab her wand and pointed it at Scorpius' injury.

His body absorbed the spell, but it didn't help. Nothing changed. The blood was still running freely to the floor.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" she then yelled and sent her silvery owl to the headmistress. Promptly, she pressed her hands back on Scorpius wound; his life was running through her fingers like sand.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but finally she heard running footsteps coming nearer. She lifted her head – a motion that took much more effort than she had expected; she was afraid he would suddenly vanish into thin air if she dared to look at something else – and stared at the teacher who had been sent to help her. Her mind still hadn't grasped the possibility that Scorpius was really dead – that was just something that couldn't be.

Professor McGonagall herself rounded the corner and stopped, rigid with horror, as soon as she saw the two students.

"Miss Weasley…?" she started but interrupted herself.

"I didn't do anything, Professor. I swear. I found him like this … I … I don't know what happened. Please, heal him…" Rose stuttered; panic and shock made her sentence incoherent. Jerkily, she struggled to her feet and made half a step towards the professor.

 _Why didn't she move? Why didn't she do anything?_ Rose thought panic-stricken.

"Step away, Miss Weasley," the headmistress ordered suddenly in a hard voice, reaching for her wrist.

"What?" Rose asked and fought against the older woman. "Scorpius …"

"It's not Scorpius!" McGonagall contradicted and pointed at his lifeless body.

Rose's head snapped around, and she gasped. The dead boy was gone, replaced by a tall, sombrely dressed figure with a face whiter than a skull, livid scarlet eyes, and a nose that was flat as a snake's but with slits for nostrils.

She opened her mouth to scream because, instinctively, she knew who it was. McGonagall, though, was faster.

" _Ridikkulus_."

Suddenly, the most feared man in all of history was wearing a green velvet dress and a hat with a stuffed vulture on it. In his hand he carried a red handbag. McGonagall smirked and let out a chuckle, but Rose was too shocked to laugh.

The boggart stumbled backwards over his dress and fled into the neighbouring classroom, whose door the headmistress immediately locked.

"B-but …" Rose protested in a shaking voice. "But he was _dead_." She stared down at her hands that were still covered with blood. "A boggart!" she added unbelievingly.

"Are you alright, Miss Weasley?" McGonagall asked softly.

Rose nodded absently. "Thank you, Professor," she said politely, but her mind was racing. She had seen him dead! She still remembered the feeling when she had realised he wouldn't wake up – the hole that had been torn into her, a pain so intense she still flinched from only thinking about it.

"Maybe you should go to your Common Room and rest a little. The elves will bring up some hot cocoa," the older witch said solicitously, gently pushing Rose towards the stairs.

Rose nodded silently and pretended to walk up the steps towards the tower, but as soon as the headmistress was out of sight, she turned back and ran downstairs until she had reached the dungeons.

She had to see for herself that Scorpius was alive. She wouldn't be able to think about the boggart – or rather why it had looked like the blond boy – until she had seen him, alive and kicking.

She didn't need to go far. She had been prepared to enter the Slytherin's Common Room and even use her position as head girl to get to him, but then she rounded a corner, and there he stood, talking with Albus.

"Oh my …" she breathed and reached for the wall for support. It was him. _He was alive._

"Rose?" she heard him call and thought she had never been so glad to hear his voice in all her life. Suddenly, his worried face was right in front of her, his eyes searching her gaze.

She didn't know why, but she thrust her arms around his unsuspecting figure; she needed to feel his warmth, hear his heartbeat, to be absolutely sure it was him. She wasn't even aware of the sob that escaped her lips.

"Rose?" he repeated and loosened her arms around him. "What's wrong? Merlin, is that blood?"

She looked down at her hands that were still drenched in red. She wanted to say something, but somehow her voice failed her. _He was alive!_ The thought hammered through her head while she looked at him full of despair.

"I thought you were dead," she eventually whispered and again reached for him to confirm he was still real.

He frowned. "What do you mean 'I thought you were dead'?"

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Bollocks, had she just really said that out loud? Quickly, she took a step back and glanced at her cousin, who had followed the conversation with worried eyes.

"What happened, Rose?" he now asked gently.

"I … I …" she stuttered and leaned against a wall.

It had been a boggart! A _boggart_! But how? How could her greatest fear be Scorpius dead and not her mother, or father, or brother? She didn't even like Scorpius, did she? She hadn't liked him from the start. He was a Malfoy! A Slytherin! He was arrogant, and cold, and … she couldn't think of anything else.

Actually, Scorpius was nothing like that – he was smart and very loyal, even funny sometimes. The bad things were just what she tried to convince herself of to have an excuse not to go out with him. Had she maybe ditched his attempts for so long that it had become a habit? Could it be that she actually _liked_ him?

She searched his gaze as if she could find any answers in his silver eyes. A little crease between his eyebrows told her that he was still worried. His right hand was outstretched as if to reach for her or catch her if she should pass out.

Rose knew she must look horrible, tears streaming over her face, knees shaking, and blood on her hands. But he didn't look appalled, just concerned.

"I saw a boggart," she finally choked out.

His frown deepened. "I don't understand …"

She swallowed and removed herself from the wall. At the moment, she didn't understand either. She relied on logic, always had, and she knew _when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth._ She repeated that well-known quote from a Muggle book inside her head, trying to find out what the truth was in this case. Her mother had loved the stories about the eccentric detective, so she, too, had become 'infected' and, even more, had started to use his philosophies to deal with difficult problems such as this.

It was a fact that the boggart had turned into a dying Scorpius, so it was only logical that that was one of her greatest fears. If that was one of her greatest fears … it meant – however improbable – that she cared for him, that she _liked_ him. Her mind also told her that she liked Albus or James, but she hadn't seen _them_ , and she liked Treena, her best friend, she loved her little brother and adored her parents, but she hadn't seen any of them. That had to mean she liked him more than a friend, loved him in a different way than a parent.

As soon as that idea had manifested itself in her mind, it wouldn't disappear. It was the most improbable of conclusions – it could impossibly be the truth!

"I saw a boggart," Rose repeated as if explaining everything out loud would make her conclusion more plausible. "But I didn't know it was a creature. I … I thought it was you." She swallowed, suddenly very self-conscious, as if she had confessed something very private. Maybe she had.

Scorpius didn't say anything, just stared at her. Albus eyes, however, wandered between them until he let out a low whistle. "Who would've thought …?"

"What?" Rose asked almost aggressively. She didn't like that her cousin had come to a conclusion that might be similar to hers.

He looked her straight in the eye. "You like him." A grin split up his serious expression, and he turned to his best friend. "She likes you. I can't believe it! She likes you, mate!"

Suddenly, the urge to run overcame Rose. That couldn't be! All the relief of having confirmed that Scorpius was alive faded away and was replaced by all-consuming fear.

Filled with panic and ready to deny everything, her gaze darted to Scorpius. The boy had tilted his head, as if pondering something of immense importance. Then he looked at her, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

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 **Thanks to alixxblack and AelysAlthea for betaing this story, and to alixxblack, 2DaughtersOfAthena, and 0WolfMoon0 for betaing the drabble!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: How about a bit of Christmas? I mean, there are only five months left! :D**

 **I hope you'll enjoy this story!** **If you do, please review!**

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 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompts:** "That's not how you do it,"

 **Word count: 2, 175**

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A cloud of silver and gold glitter shot out of Ron Weasley's wand and draped itself all over the Christmas tree.

"What do you think, Hugo?" he asked his two-year-old son, who promptly replied, "More, more, more!"

"And you, Rosie?" He turned to look at his daughter, who sat at the table and made Christmas decoration out of paper and other materials. She was so deep in concentration that her tongue stuck between her teeth.

When she heard his voice, she looked up and rolled her eyes. "If you put much more glitter on that tree, everyone who looks at it will have their eyes fall out. You're making it ugly and stupid and shiny!"

Ron looked back at the tree and had to agree with his daughter. It barely looked like a tree anymore; not an inch of green was still visible under the red, silver, and gold glitter. It was quite an adult answer for a four-year-old. However, now that he thought about it, Rose had never been a glittery kind of girl.

"Come on, Hugo, we'll help your sister with the decorations," he told his son, who still determinedly demanded, "More, more, more, more…!"

"No, honey. No more glitter!" Ron said firmly and lifted the boy to his chair. "Rose can show you how to make a star."

"Glitter!" the two-year-old exclaimed as soon as he was seated and reached with his small hands for the bottle of glitter.

Quickly, Rose pushed it out of the way. "Here, Hugo. You colour these." She handed him a few stars and snowflakes she had cut out.

The boy nodded, grabbing the coloured pencils. Content, Ron watched his two children for a bit and then stood up to look for his wife. Hermione was in the kitchen with Harry, cooking and chatting at the same time.

"Are Ginny and the kids coming soon?" Ron asked and snatched a biscuit from the cookie jar.

Harry glanced at his watch, shrugging. "They should be. But Molly insisted they come. She really didn't appreciate our decision to celebrate Christmas here and not at the Burrow."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, munching another biscuit. "It's not like we're not coming to visit." He liked big family dinners, but lately the dinners had become a bit too much for him with so many children running around and constantly needing attention. Also, he didn't want his mother to have to cook for so many people. He knew she liked it, but she had to accept that she wasn't twenty-five anymore.

He was just about to add something when loud screaming erupted from the living. At once, he dropped the biscuit and raced to the sitting room. He had left them alone with scissors! He really was the worst father in the whole wide world!

But it wasn't a scissor-accident, like he had pictured. Rose was glaring at her brother, who wore an expression wavering between tearful and stubborn.

"You can't colour all stars pink! That's not how you do it!" the red-haired girl lectured.

"Glitter!" was his defiant answer, and without caring about his sister's reaction, he poured half the bottle over his pink stars.

"Hugo!" Rose screamed and suddenly burst into tears.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked behind him. She still had a large knife in her hand with which she had sliced the potatoes.

"Nothing!" Ron hurried to say. "I'll handle it, don't worry!"

It took him a while to calm the sobbing Rose down, who was angry because she had put so much work in the stars. Then Hugo had ruined them all. About half an hour later, he had even managed to convince Hugo to make some of the stars yellow and not pink.

"Would you mind helping Harry for a minute?" Hermione asked, having entered unnoticed. "I need to change before dinner."

"Sure," he said and smiled at her. To him, she looked beautiful in her jeans and pullover, with her hair down and framing her face like a river of milk chocolate.

"Great tree, by the way." She grinned, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged apologetically. "Hugo."

Hermione laughed and handed him her apron. "I don't know where he got that from. Certainly not me." Then she hurried up the stairs to change into fresh clothes.

Ron silently agreed and walked over to the kitchen to help Harry with the salad.

"I swear Rose is becoming more and more like Hermione every day," he sighed and directed his wand at the carrots, who started to peel themselves.

Harry chuckled silently and continued to slice the tomatoes. "You should see Lily. She only needs to look at you and you know you're in trouble."

Ron could picture his niece easily with the same hard, blazing look that Ginny gave him ever so often. "I bet she'll have the best Bat-Bogey Hex of the whole school," he remarked and casually pointed his wand back at the carrots, directing them to a trencher. Then he pointed his wand at the large knife, which promptly started cutting up the orange vegetables. He let his gaze wander to Harry, who was still cutting tomatoes. "I don't know how Hermione and you do it. I mean, isn't it awfully tedious to do it by hand? Why not use a wand?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. I like it. Hermione thinks it tastes better if you prepare everything by hand, I think." He shrugged. "Watch that knife, mate!"

Ron flinched and quickly pointed his wand at the knife before it could chop up the pie that was for dessert. Sighing, he put the carrots in a bowl and started to peel the apples for the carrot salad. "It actually scares me a little how grown up she is. Rose, I mean. She doesn't like glitter. How can a four-year-old girl not like glitter?"

Harry shrugged again noncommittally. "I don't think Hermione was a girl for glitter either."

"That's what I mean! She's just like her mother!" Ron exclaimed, and, having peeled all the apples, continued with slicing them.

"What are you two talking about?" Hermione suddenly said with a voice of someone who knew exactly what had been the topic of the conversation.

Ron's head snapped up and his ears turned pink as if he had been caught doing something naughty. "Er … nothing. You look beautiful, darling."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but accepted the compliment with a nod. She wore a simple, dark green dress that fit perfectly to her earthy-coloured hair. "Everything ready?" she asked and opened the various pots to check. Finally, she turned and looked at the carrot salad Ron was preparing.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, irritation tinting her voice.

"What?" he asked, surprised. He hadn't accidentally added eggplants into the salad like last time, had he?

"What do you think you're doing? I told you that's not how you do it!" Brusquely, Hermione pointed her wand at the apples, which were now grated instead of sliced.

Ron threw a meaningful glance at Harry, who tried to suppress a chuckle and was suddenly very interested in his own salad. "Sorry, darling," Ron said faintly.

Luckily, he was saved by the bell, which announced Ginny and the children. Instantly, the house was full of hustle and bustle, and the familiar feeling of Christmas dinners wrapped itself around Ron. He realised that he liked the noisiness, the different smells wavering around, the loud laughter, and the constant movement, but that he didn't miss the Burrow as much as he thought he would.

This was going to be a wonderful Christmas – even with a red, silver, and golden Christmas tree that was decorated with pink glittering stars.

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 **Virtual chocolate to the wonderful _AelysAlthea_ and of course to the best Ravenclaw Prefect ever, _AlixxBlack_ , for betaing!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you to my 'buddy' _0WolfMoon0_ for betaing!**

 **Enjoy!**

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 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompts: Thestrals**

 **Word count: 475**

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Hermione Granger was the last person to exit the Hogwarts Express.

She'd sat at the window and watched the other students boarding the carriages. It felt strange to ride the train without Harry or Ron, and when she was honest, she was positively terrified of the year ahead of her.

So she'd sat at the window, determined to wait until most of the students were gone and she could ride up to Hogwarts in peace. She didn't want younger students to badger her about the war or Harry and Ron. Even Ginny had gone ahead, so she was all alone. Then she noticed the most peculiar thing.

People had stopped and stared at the carriages.

She'd always assumed it was common knowledge that they were pulled by thestrals – _Hogwarts: A History_ explained it in great detail. Even if people couldn't see them, they should know about them. So, for her, the skeletal horses weren't an unexpected sight; they were creepy regardless. Black fur was clinging to their bones, which were easily visible, and the look from the pupil-less white eyes seemed to go right through her. Their bat-like wings only intensified their sinister, even dangerous appearance.

She'd paid the fact that she could see them no mind – she knew she had seen death and had come very close to dying herself, unfortunately more often than she could count.

But then a girl in her third year had started screaming. A group of sixth years had pointed their wands at the eerie horses. A second year refused to enter the carriages and wanted to be taken by the boats instead.

She'd watched Dean flinch when he saw them, Justin pale in fear, Susan grab Hannah's hand, and Draco freeze at the sight of the dark creatures.

Then she'd realised what the war had done to her friends, done to them all. These children had seen death, felt it like she had. They'd had to fight or flee to survive. They'd been forced to grow up way too early.

Only because of the aspirations for power of one man.

All that was left seemed to be pain and hate. Hate generated more hate, and in this war each side had distributed so much hate it felt like it was impossible to ever move on.

All at once, Hermione felt her inner Gryffindor come out. She was brave, she was a warrior, and she wouldn't let them win. If her generation couldn't overcome the hate of the last generation, Voldemort would succeed. If they couldn't forgive, they'd be broken forever.

She didn't plan on being broken.

So she exited the Hogwarts Express, full of new courage and determination, and walked purposefully to the last carriage. She wasn't afraid of the year ahead anymore. She would be who she needed to be to get her friends through the darkness.

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 **Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello, my dear readers. Here comes another adventure!**

 **Virtual chocolate to everyone who finds the Jane Austen reference! :***

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House: **Ravenclaw**

Category: **Short**

Prompts: **Dementors** **[Creature]**

Word count: **1, 702**

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 **May 1998**

The island the four Hogwarts students – Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco – camped on was so remote it felt like they were in a completely different world. It was a single patch of dirt, covered by a few rocks and trees, in the middle of a gigantic lake.

After they had stolen the fourth Horcrux, the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, they had come here to plan their next steps. So far, they hadn't got anywhere. Even Draco couldn't help them. Yes, he had known how to evade the _Geminio_ and _Flagrante_ charms, had known how to trick the goblins and persuade them that they were really Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy, but he didn't know how to _find_ Horcruxes.

After he had defected during the Easter holidays – or more correctly run away to avoid being killed by a white-faced monster –, he had step-by-step started to help the Golden Trio. Not that he liked them, especially Wonder Boy. But there are some things you can't share without ending up trusting each other, and breaking successfully into Gringott's and destroying a Horcrux is one of those things.

It was one of the first really hot days this spring; Potter and Weasley had lost all inhibitions and decided to go swimming.

Draco sat inside the protective circle, right at the border, and watched them splashing and playing around. The cracking of a branch told him that Hermione was approaching. She silently sat down next to him and smiled.

"They're adorable."

Draco snorted. That was certainly not the way he would describe the two morons.

"I haven't seen them this happy in a long time. You seem to be our good luck charm."

Draco snorted again. "More the useless Death Eater you took in out of pity."

Her head snapped towards him, and he knew she wanted to say something comforting, so he stood up and walked away from her. He'd realised that he shouldn't be with them. He'd dreamt every night that Voldermort would find them, torture them, and finally kill them – and it would be his fault! Each second that passed, the Dark Lord could have found out a way to track his Dark Mark; each second that passed, he could show up here and raise hell on them. Draco was endangering them the longer he stayed. But he had nowhere else to go. He knew he'd be dead within a week if he were on his own.

A cloud pushed itself in front of the sun and Draco shivered. It was still cold outside without the sun; the winter seemed to have Britain still in his clasp.

"Hey guys, I made sandwiches!" Hermione called, stepping outside the circle.

He heard Potter and Weasley say something that made her laugh. Then he heard her steps, walking back towards him. "Come on, Draco. Don't tell me, you're not hungry," she said playfully, but there was a serious tone in her voice, too. He could picture her frown and her worried amber eyes.

He didn't turn around. "I'm good," he answered, shrugging.

She grabbed his elbow and turned him around forcefully. "You haven't had any breakfast and you've barely eaten since we've been here on this island. What's wrong?"

He bit his lip and cursed her perceptiveness. "Nothing." He shivered again when a cold gust of wind hit him and pulled his jacket tighter.

She was right of course. He wasn't eating. It was not that he wasn't hungry, but the food they had received from Bill and Fleur had been for them, the Golden Trio. For the heroes, and not him – the Death Eater. It felt wrong to take advantage of their kindness; it just wasn't his food to eat. Besides, the more he ate then the sooner they would need to go out and find some more supplies. The risk was just too high.

"Draco," she sighed and he could see the goose flesh on her arms.

"Here." Without a moment's hesitation, he handed her his jacket. "You're cold."

She looked at him strangely. "I can get my jacket from the tent."

He rolled his eyes. "Just take it."

"Will you eat something?" she asked, grinning slyly. She never gave up. She waited until he nodded and then took the jacket from him.

"Fine," he grumbled and followed her.

The nearer they came to the water, the colder it got. Strange. Just minutes ago it had been quite warm. He summoned himself another jacket and looked for Potter and Weasley. The black-haired boy was just climbing up the beach, but Weasley was still swimming towards it.

The tiny hairs in his neck rose, and he rubbed his Dark Mark. Something felt _wrong_.

Automatically, he drew his wand and searched the surroundings for movement. By pure chance, his gaze wandered to the western side of the lake – the other shore was barely visible – and, all at once, adrenaline poured into his veins.

The lake was frozen. Literally frozen.

"Dementors," he cried out, gripping his wand tighter. "Hermione!"

She dashed out of the tent, wand in hand. "Where?"

With shaking fingers, he pointed at the other side of the lake where black silhouettes were approaching.

"Blast!" she exclaimed and her gaze jumped towards both guys. Weasley was still in the water, too far from the shore to make it before the Dementors arrived. They hadn't heard them screaming because they were still outside the protective circle. Draco could see she wanted to run to them, but he grabbed her elbow.

"Stay here! I'll go. I need you to conjure a patronus," he hissed and then ran to the beach without waiting for an answer. The familiar despair overcame him once he was in the monster's reach, and he shivered violently.

"Dementors!" he screamed as soon as he left the circle. Hermione's patronus appeared at the same moment, and Potter drew his wand.

He didn't hesitate for a second, didn't even turn around to confirm Draco's words. " _Expecto Patronum_ ," he bellowed and a stag sprang from his wand.

"What about Weasley?" Draco screamed. "They're too many!"

The redhead in the water had also realised the danger and swam like a maniac, but the first of the dark creatures would reach him in seconds. Only a blink of the eye later, they would take the beach. The otter and the stag patronuses tried their best, but there were too many dark shadows, sucking up all their happiness.

"No!" Potter grabbed his arm when he tried to run into the icy water. "Ron has his wand."

Potter was right. A little dog broke out of the water and ran around Ron like a guard dog.

He should try a Patronus as well, Draco thought. They needed his help. But the Dementors were so close. _So close_. He could already hear a high-pitched, cruel voice in his head.

"What are you waiting for?" Potter yelled and shook him. His powerful stag was keeping half the Dementors at bay, but he could see the amount of strength needed for the effort on Potter face. It was distorted with exertion.

"I can't," Draco choked and gasped in pain when his Mark started burning. "Death Eaters can't …"

"You're not a bloody Death Eater. Do it! Just try. It doesn't have to be corporal – just something!" Potter screamed at him. Draco could see his desperation now, could see how he had to hold back to not storm into the lake and save his friend.

"A happy memory, Draco," Hermione, who was suddenly behind them, reminded him.

With shaking fingers, he lifted his wand, " _Ex-expecto Patronum_."

Nothing happened. A happy memory, a happy memory …

 _Crucio_ , the monster's voice screamed in his head, and a cry of pain escaped his lips. He heard screaming in his head, his mother, his father, Hermione…

Suddenly, a warm hand was in his own. "Draco!" Hermione cried and, with all the strength he could muster, he focused back on the present. Weasley's terrier had disappeared, and a Dementor was about to grab him. Hermione's otter fought hard to get to him, but they had surrounded him on the shore, and it couldn't get there in time. If he didn't do something then they would all receive the Kiss.

So he focused on the warm hand in his hand, upon the feelings she evoked in him. She made him feel _safe_. Maybe, it was because she could forgive him and trust him unconditionally; maybe, it was because she tried to make him feel better, even though he hadn't deserved it; maybe, it was because she gave him kindness when he expected hate, protected him when he expected an attack.

Something inside of him twisted and he realised that there was no way he could deny it any longer. He had fallen in love with her. He could not fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which had laid the foundation. He was in the middle before he knew that he had begun.

He held that feeling like a light within him and then spoke in a firm voice, " _Expecto Patronum_."

He would have nearly stopped the spell when something small jumped out of his wand – a weasel-like animal with dense, silky white fur and a black tip of tail.

"Bugger," Potter whispered next to him and Hermione squeezed his hand.

"An ermine," she smiled, and Draco would have chuckled, too, if it weren't so hard to maintain the spell.

The ermine ran straight for the Dementor that was attacking Weasley and catapulted it backwards.

"Wow," Draco whispered, watching his patronus viciously attacking the dark shadows. Then he quickly caught himself. With shaking and clumsy fingers, he rolled up his sleeves and exposed his Dark Mark. He held his arm up and screamed, "You have no business here, Dementors! You should disappear before I report you."

That seemed to impress or at least slow the creatures down. They actually withdrew a few metres. With the help of Potter's and Hermione's patronuses as well, he was finally able to drive them back to the other side of the lake.

They hadn't defeated them, but they had bought enough time to pack and disappear.

* * *

 **Special thanks to my betas and fellow Ravenclaws: _AelysAlthea_ and _Alixx Black_!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I hope you enjoy this fun little story, everyone!**

* * *

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompts: House Elf**

 **Word count: 1, 312**

* * *

"That's the last of it," Fred said and handed his younger brother a cup of Butterbeer.

"Why is _he_ getting the rest of it?" Ginny complained, crossing her arms and glaring at the other redheads.

Ron shrugged, grinned at her, and emptied his cup. Fred and George had decided that Harry needed a bit of cheering up after the disastrous end of the Triwizard Tournament. Not that Harry especially _wanted_ a party in the Common Room, but the twins had insisted on it.

"Since he drank the rest of it, he's in charge of procuring new beers, am I right Fred?" George quipped and winked at Ron.

"How right you are, brother of mine," his twin answered. "Get a move on, Ronnikins. Down to the kitchens!"

"And bring some more of these crisps while you're at it," George added, waving an empty bag at him.

Ron stared at his brothers, who seemed to be deadly serious about it, then let his gaze wander to his sister, who smirked smugly. Hermione was rolling her eyes and Harry stared moodily into his empty Butterbeer bottle. Nobody jumped to his defence, though.

"Fine," he grumbled. It was nearly curfew for the fourth years, so he had to hurry. Now he wished he had given Ginny the last sip of the Butterbeer. In fact, it had even tasted a bit … _off_.

Cursing himself, he stomped down the stairs until he reached the kitchens on the ground floor. Still swearing, he tickled the pear and entered. The house elves were helpful as usual.

However, when he started stuffing the bottles and crisps into a large bag, his vision suddenly became blurred and he felt a little dizzy for a split second. Brushing it off as low blood sugar – he _was_ already hungry again – he put the last bottle into the bag and looked up to thank the tiny house elves. But instead of Tinky, the elf who had helped him, something big and black stared back at him. The monster had eight hairy legs and six eerily glittering eyes, and its teeth were dripping with poison. It was a spider nearly as large as the Acrumantulas in the forest!

Ron let out a blood-curdling scream, dropped the bag with the butterbeer bottles, and raced out of the room, ignoring the confused chattering of the house elves.

A spider – one of the most deadly predators – inside the castle!

 _Why exactly had he been the one to get more Butterbeer?!_ Ron thought bitterly and ducked into an alcove. _Why_ spiders _?!_

Still panting, he peered around the corner and froze in horror. The spider had followed him! It clumsily moved along the narrow corridor, its fangs clicking with every step. Adrenaline poured into his veins, and he knew he had to move or the bloodthirsty creature would have him cornered.

Luckily, he had experience running from spiders, otherwise his fear would have paralyzed him and rooted him to the spot. His heart beat loudly in his ears as he dashed around the corner, just narrowly escaping one of the spider's legs.

There!

The stairs!

Ron nearly sighed in relief when he reached the wide stair well. Spiders couldn't climb stairs, could they? Having reached the first floor, he turned around to look at the dastardly monster. However, the tarantula was gone!

"Ha!" Ron exclaimed with a triumphant grin and turned around sweepingly.

Two sharp, pointy fangs snapped at his face – missing him by a hair's breadth. Gasping, he stumbled backwards. He didn't even waste time to contemplate how the spider had got there but drew his wand.

" _Arania Exumai_!"

But the wand didn't produce the beam of blue-white light he expected but instead turned into a rubber chicken! A _Trick Wand_! Naturally, the spider seemed completely unimpressed.

Cursing under his breath, Ron dodged a hit from one of its legs and sprinted down the stairs towards the other stairwell. The spider, though, was tirelessly following him and nearly impossible to escape from.

Finally, he managed to squeeze through one of the secret passageways where the creature couldn't follow. White-faced and panting, he eventually reached the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Are you alright, Ron?" Hermione asked immediately.

"Still afraid of ghosts, Ronnikins?" Fred teased.

"N-no. There was –" He took a deep breath. "There was –" Before he could finish his sentence, the spider appeared with a loud _plop_ in the middle of the room.

"Ah!" Ron let out a scream and dove behind one of the armchairs. "The spider! The spider! Do something!"

Panic-stricken, he looked at Harry and Hermione. They didn't appear scared or alarmed at all. He knew his friends didn't fear spiders as much as he did, but their relaxed reaction irritated him.

"The _what_?" Hermione repeated, looking dumbfounded.

"Spider!" he screamed and peered over the back of the armchair. The monster seemed even larger than before, filling half of the Common Room with its massive black body. Desperately, he fired another Spider Repelling curse at it, but all he'd achieved was throwing a tin parrot at it. _Where_ was his _real_ wand?

"There's no spider, Ron," Hermione said in her lecturing voice.

"Are you blind?" he snapped and glanced around the room.

It was his older brothers' reaction which gave it away. They weren't hiding from the venomous creature, either, but rather snickered and whispered to each other.

"There really is no spider, Ron!" Harry confirmed Hermione's statement. Frowning, his green eyes wandered from the trembling redheaded boy to the chuckling twins. "What did you do?"

"No s-spider?" Ron mouthed as the truth slowly dawned on him. Fred and George! They surely had something to do with it!

The twins broke into howling laughter, clapping each other on the back. "Good one, George. That fear concoction is absolutely brilliant!"

"Fear concoction?" Ron repeated, infuriated, and stood up. Now that he thought about it, his Butterbeer had really tasted funny. He should know better than to drink anything the twins offered him.

He looked again at the spider, which was just as scary as before, but now he noticed his bag of Butterbeer bottles and crisps dangling from its fangs.

"This is not funny!" Hermione hissed. "Give him the antidote at once!"

"Come on, Hermione. Don't be such a spoilsport!" Fred muttered.

"You have to admit it _was_ a tiny bit funny!" George added, rummaging around in his school bag. "Ah, here!" He took out a little phial and threw it casually over to his younger brother.

Hermione clenched her jaw and then looked at Ron, who still looked very nervous and cautiously glanced at the spider. Suddenly, a chuckle escaped her lips. In fact, it _had_ been very funny how Ron had stared in horror at the little house elf – whom he'd mistaken for a spider – and fidgeted with the Trick Wand Fred or George had somehow slipped to him. Harry was laughing with Hermione, and even Ginny shook with silent giggles.

Ron, who quickly gulped the foul tasting liquid down, now stared at Tinky in shock. A _house elf_! It had only been a blasted house elf!

"Are yous all right, Mister?" the tiny creature asked cautiously. "Yous forgot the bag."

"Thank you, Tinky," Fred murmured and took the bag from the elf, who promptly disapparated.

"George!" Ron exploded and threw a cushion after his brother. "How could you do that? You scared the living daylights out of me!"

George only chuckled nonchalantly, sidestepping the flying object.

"We thought it would cheer Harry up," Fred said, grinning. "And we needed someone –"

"… to test our new product on," George finished his sentence.

"Gits!" Ron snarled, but he accepted the Butterbeer that George offered him anyway. The twins were right. Harry _did_ look much less gloomy.

And if he was honest, being chased by a house elf through Hogwarts was maybe a wee bit funny

* * *

 **Thanks to my buddy _0WolfMoon0_ and our Prefect _Alixx Black_ for betaing!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hiya! This is supposed to be the first chapter of a future, unwritten story. A time-turner story where Harry has 12 hours to save Ginny. For now, it stays in the Story Collection since it can function on its own.**

* * *

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Grimmauld Place**

 **W/C: 1, 740**

* * *

 ** _4:32 pm._**

Dark clouds had gathered over London, bringing the night early. The snow had begun to fall slowly but steadily from the sky. The flakes were silver in the dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight, covering the frozen pavement, and laying in heavy drifts upon the stairs that led up to the entrance of Grimmauld Place Number Twelve.

Harry Potter apparated directly to the topmost stair of the entrance to his house. With his wand drawn, he entered, not sparing the wintry scene behind him any attention. His mind was focused on what might be going on inside.

He'd just received a message from a killer he and the Auror department had been hunting for two years. A message that had led him to believe that the murderer would come here, to his home, and take the most precious thing he had from him – Ginny.

Noiselessly, he slipped through the door into the dark and gloomy hallway. He didn't dare to switch on the light, lest he warned the intruder – in case he was still there. He listened out for any sounds coming from any of the rooms, but it was eerily quiet.

 _Ginny_!

He had to press his lips together to not call out for her. If the psychopath had got there before he had… he didn't want to think about it.

" _Homenum revelio_ ," he whispered quietly and a red ball of light appeared. Someone was present, someone human, someone _alive_.

 _Please, let it be Ginny_ , Harry begged inwardly, following the ball of light into the entrance hall. His heart beat loudly in his chest when he passed the stairs to the kitchen, but no shadow jumped out of the darkness. The red light, however, flew purposefully past it towards the small library on the ground floor. Silently, Harry passed the dining room and nearly stumbled over something on the ground.

Suppressing a curse, he lit his wand to identify the culprit. Large, tennis-ball-like, blood-shot eyes stared unseeingly at him, and a nearly toothless mouth was opened in a last silent scream.

Kreacher!

If there had been any hope that the killer hadn't been here yet, it vanished into thin air. He must have forced his way into Harry's home and killed his house elf. But what about Ginny?

Horrific scenarios played over and over in Harry's head. Maybe, the Unknown Subject as they called him, or _unsub_ , was waiting for him in the library, Ginny's dead body at his feet.

With bated breath, Harry moved forward, step by step, towards the library as if an unknown force had taken over his body. He really didn't want to know what he'd find inside, but he couldn't stop himself from walking towards it.

The door was slightly ajar and he opened it with the tip of his foot. The crackling fire was barely enough to illuminate the room, but it was enough for Harry to see the damage.

Porcelain and glass splinters covered the floor and reflected the flickering, fiery light. Most of the bookshelves had fallen over and torn books littered the floor. Burning marks in the indigo blue wallpaper were testimony to the dark curses that must have hit them. The scale of the destruction was massive – Ginny wouldn't give in without a fight – but Harry could detect no signs of life.

He entered cautiously, ready to dodge any hexes coming his way, but nothing happened. His breathing was loud in his ears, too loud. He wasn't able to detect any other sounds. With a swish of his wand, he blew fog through the room, which should have shown him anybody under an invisibility cloak or another disguise. The room, however, stayed disappointingly empty.

"Ginny!" Harry finally hissed. Someone had to be here!

Deciding that if the killer really had been still here, he would have had ample chance to attack him. As he hadn't done so, he wasn't here. Therefore, it should be safe to lighten the room.

Bright, electric light illuminated the crime scene in front of him, but Harry didn't care. He only searched for a flash of flaming red hair, a low intake of breath, any sign of life.

Finally, he found it.

Something red was oozing out from under one of the bookshelves.

"Ginny!" Harry cried out and hastily levitated the bookshelf from the unconscious person. It wasn't Ginny, though. Chestnut curls saturated with a sticky, red liquid caught his eye, and his heart stopped.

"Hermione!" Instantly, he kneeled down next to his best friend, who – although unconscious – still clutched her wand, ready to fight. Blood dripped down from various cuts all over her body, which could only come from one curse – _Sectumsempra_. However, it looked like she had tried to heal some of the life-threatening wounds herself.

Before he started the healing chant, Harry sent three Patronuses on their way – one to Ron, one to Kingsley, and the last one to the ambulance team of St. Mungo's. Then he tried to heal Hermione's injuries as best as he could, but she had lost a lot of blood. More blood than he thought she could survive.

So maybe Ginny hadn't been here. Maybe the unsub had targeted Hermione instead, but hadn't had the time to finish her before Harry had showed up.

But, no. This wasn't the unsub's M.O. The murderer they had been hunting liked to show off his victims, to make a show out of killing them, to tell a story with it. At first they had suspected it was some kind of vigilante who finished off Death Eaters that had got away, some Muggle-born or Half-blood who wanted revenge. He rarely used magic – and never an Unforgivable – to kill his victims, but, for example, locked them in a house and burned it down – like he'd done with Nott Senior – or threw them into a lake and let them drown – like he'd done with Crabbe Senior. But, about a year ago, his victims had changed. They were no longer known Death Eaters, but random witches and wizards. Nobody had been able to find a connection yet.

But Harry was getting close. Sometimes, the killer would leave little clues at the crime scenes to play with Harry, to mock him.

He must have decided Harry was getting too close because today he had gone after the one thing Harry loved most in this world – his wife.

Suddenly, the fireplace roared and a redhead stumbled out of it. Harry jumped up and pointed his wand at the intruder.

"Don't move!" he yelled and Ron froze.

"Harry? What the hell …?" His gaze wandered to the unconscious form on the ground, and, without caring about Harry's command, rushed to her side. "Hermione… no!"

Harry tried to not let his feelings overwhelm him. This was a job! Since Ron was the most likely person to be impersonated by the killer, he had to ensure he was actually his best friend. "What was the shape of Snape's patronus and where did we first encounter it?" he nearly hissed.

Ron looked up, irritation flashing in his blue eyes. "What? Harry, what are you talking about? What the hell happened? We need to get Hermione to St. Mungo's!"

Harry glanced nervously at the bushy-haired girl. At least, she seemed to be still breathing. "The paramedics should be here any second. Now answer the question!" To underline his request he put his wand at Ron's temple. "I need to know _you_ are _you_."

Ron frowned, his fingers tightening around Hermione's. "It was a bloody doe and we saw it in the Forest of Dean. Satisfied, mate? Can we save Hermione now?"

"Thank god," Harry sighed and fell to his knees next to his friend. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

Before Ron could say anything else, the fireplace roared again and two paramedics rushed in. Harry's mind had been able to keep the shock and the fear for Ginny in check until that moment, but now it seemed a dam inside of him had broken and panic threatened to overwhelm him.

He grabbed Ron and dragged him to the side, so the healers could do their work. After they had stabilised the unconscious witch, they got ready to transport her to St. Mungo's. Harry had thought Ron would follow them, but he stayed and watched Harry pouring himself a Firewhiskey.

"What happened?" Ron's words were angry, lashing through the air like whips.

Harry emptied his glass and looked at his friend. "I don't know. He … he must have been here. I think he has taken Gin-" Suddenly, his voice broke and his knees almost gave in. Ginny! He had Ginny! The fear for her was so great he wanted to punch something, to raise hell on her kidnapper, to search the whole of Britain at once and not stop until he had found her; but he didn't even know where to start.

"Who?" Ron asked, his face ashen.

Carefully, Harry met his gaze. "Do you remember the case we got after we were made full Aurors, the vigilante case?"

Ron nodded silently.

"It's him. The killer. He's taken her," Harry said in a dead voice.

"But … why?"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter. To hurt me, to scare me. I don't know. But he did."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Shouldn't we alert Kingsley or other Aurors?"

"I already did that," Harry answered flatly and poured himself another glass.

"Do you think … do you think he'll hurt her?" Ron asked breathlessly.

Harry emptied the glass with one gulp. He didn't want to think about that. All he knew was that he had to save her! But how?

His silence seemed answer enough for Ron, who took a shaking step back and steadied himself on a small table that had survived the fight. Harry watched him cautiously. "I'm sorry Hermione got hurt. She must have been here visiting Ginny."

Ron paled even further and clenched his fist. "I know. We … we had a fight. She left in a huff and I didn't stop her. I should've stopped her! And now …"

"Ron, I …" Harry swallowed. "We'll find him, I promise! We'll bring him to justice for what he did to Hermione!"

Ron nodded determined, rage flashing in his eyes. Harry knew neither of them would rest until they had found the monster that had done this, until they had Ginny back.

And that monster would _pay_.

* * *

 **Thank you to the brilliant** 0WolfMoon0 **and the amazing** 2DaughtersOfAthena **for betaing!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Short but heartbreaking - a little bit of Deamus! Enjoy and, please, review!**

* * *

House: **Ravenclaw**

Category: **Drabble**

Prompts: **Seamus/Dean**

Word count: **434**

* * *

 _Stop staring_ , Seamus chastises himself. _He'll notice_.

But he can't stop staring however hard he tries. He can't stop admiring the other boy's profile: his straight nose and the elegant line of his jaw, the tone of his skin, tinted in dark chocolate, his strong, lean fingers that are buried in red hair.

Oh, how he wishes it was his own hair they were buried in.

 _No! Stop thinking that, you idiot!_ he tells himself. _Dean's your best friend and nothing more._

But the thought has already crept into his mind, infested it like a disease, and it wouldn't disappear.

Seamus isn't quite sure when it happened. All he knows is that, one day, he's watching Dean draw. The way he makes it look so easy to put utter perfection on paper. The way he bites his lip before he begins with something complicated. The way he's so absorbed in his work he wouldn't even hear the twins' pranks explode. And Seamus realises he wants to watch him for the rest of his life. But then he thinks, _Isn't that a peculiar thing to think of your best friend?_ And _then_ he thinks … _bugger_.

Until that moment, Seamus hadn't been aware of the perfection of their close friendship and the way they could talk so easily. There were no emotions that would make their life complicated - like _love_. The next moment, Seamus realised that he's in hell. To be utterly in love with your best friend is the worst thing to happen to anyone.

And then, as if the situation isn't bad enough, _Ginny_ danced into Dean's life.

Now, Seamus has to not only watch them together, reminding him of something he'll never have, but also be completely okay with it. However, with every smile he fakes, the pain gets worse.

He has to stop; that's all Seamus knows. It can't be that, when his hand accidentally touches Dean's, he feels a little nauseous. It can't be that, when they smile conspiratorially at each other, time suddenly stops and whole lifetimes seem to fit into one flutter of lashes.

Because, when the moment ends – as it ultimately always has to – Seamus feels worse than before because he knows Dean doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel that surge of electricity, that powerful connection. No, for him, the Irish boy is very clearly in the friendship-zone.

Seamus doesn't know what to do. He needs to figure something out, and fast, as he isn't able to control it much longer.

Because, in the end, the truth will blow up in his face and destroy him.

* * *

 **Virtual chocolate to the fabulous _AelysAlthea,_ who betaed this story. Thank you for being such an amazing friend!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This was inspired by _Supernatural_. I think, in one of the first seasons, Sam tells Dean he should've assured him that the monster under his bed wasn't real instead of telling him about all the gruesome creatures that their dad was hunting. And Dean says something about having checked under the bed. So when I read the prompt, it reminded me of the Winchesters and I wanted to write a "brotherly moment" between Albus and James.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt:** Under the bed

 **W/C: 910**

* * *

When Albus closed his eyes, he could hear it – a muffled, rustling noise, like something moving over the wooden planks, a low intake of breath. Instantly, his eyes flew open and he sat up.

His room was only dimly lit, and the light that fell through the curtains wasn't enough to illuminate the space under his bed. But he knew that something was there.

The monster?

He could hear it at night, breathing and moving, preparing to attack. It didn't matter how often he'd searched and never found anything; he just _knew_ that it was there. It didn't matter that it never came out. Maybe it fed upon his fear or ate his dreams while he slept.

Quickly, Albus stretched his feet out of bed and cautiously put them on the floor. There was a muffled groan, but nothing attacked him. Taking in a deep breath, he stood up and quickly took a step away from the bed.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that monsters in cupboards and under beds didn't normally exist. But not in their world. In their world, monsters were very real. Something he'd learned the hard way when he'd been attacked by a Red Cap about a year ago. So he _knew_ he wasn't imagining things. Monsters lurked everywhere. Even in this house, even under his bed.

Silently, he opened his door and looked outside. His parents weren't home and Aunt Hermione was babysitting them. However, after she had put James, Lily, and himself to bed, she usually fell asleep while reading a book.

Albus stopped in front of Lily's door. He knew she would understand him, but she was also his little sister and he didn't want to scare her. She didn't know about monsters yet since she was only three.

Biting his lip, Albus turned to his brother's door. James, of course, knew about the monsters that haunted this world, but Albus wasn't sure his brother would understand him. Maybe, James would make fun of him.

However, when he thought about returning to his room and being alone with the thing under his bed, he couldn't help but shiver. It felt like returning to the lion's den, like he was putting himself in danger. He really didn't feel safe in there anymore.

So he swallowed loudly and carefully opened his brother's door. James was sound asleep, but as soon as Albus had entered and closed the door behind him, he stirred. Finally, his eyes fluttered open.

"Al?" he murmured sleepily.

Albus' lip trembled. He didn't want to show his older brother how scared he was, but his body gave him away.

"Is something wrong?" James suddenly asked, something akin to concern in his voice. At once, he sat up and scrutinised his younger brother.

"There's a monster," Albus blurted out.

James frowned. "Where?"

Albus bit his lip. "Under my bed," he whispered sheepishly. He blinked at his brother from under his lashes, ready for the snide remark he would no doubt make.

But his brother surprised him. James jumped out of bed and grabbed a flashlight. "Let me have a look. You stay here."

Albus nodded silently while his brother snuck out of his room and crossed the floor. Albus waited with baited breath, listening out for any sound from the other room, but it remained strangely silent. Then, all of a sudden, James was back.

"There's nothing there, Al," he said reassuringly and put his flashlight back on the bedside table.

"You're sure?" Albus asked cautiously.

"Dead sure. I searched every corner of the room. Trust me. Nothing will harm you." He looked Albus straight in the eye. "I promise," he added sincerely.

Albus swallowed loudly. "Okay," he said, unconvinced.

James looked at him for a second and then sighed. "Fine, you can have my bed. I'll sleep in your room."

Albus stared at his brother with large eyes. It wasn't usual for him to be so selfless.

James recognised his hesitation and, with half a smile, patted on his bed. "Here. I don't mind."

Then, he made a move to leave the room. In the last second, Albus grabbed his hand. "Don't. The monster …" He looked up to his brother. "What if it hurts you?"

" _Nothing's_ going to hurt me, Al," James said, running his fingers through his charcoal hair.

"But …" Albus contradicted and held his hand tighter. He couldn't let him leave. He couldn't let his older brother get hurt because he was too scared to go back to his room. He needed to protect him, to protect his family.

"Albus."

"It's okay. I'll go." He tried to make a brave face and stepped towards the door.

"Wait!" James said suddenly, stopping him. "My bed is big enough for the both of us."

Albus looked at his brother disbelievingly. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely." James jumped back into his bed and moved aside so that Albus could climb in beside him.

Very slowly, as if unsure if his older brother really meant it, Albus slipped under the blanket. "There really _is_ a monster," he repeated fervently.

"Okay, Al. I understand. Now sleep. We'll hunt the monster tomorrow," James breathed and abruptly turned his back to his brother.

"Tomorrow." Albus nodded and closed his eyes.

Wrapped into the cosy blanket and with the warmth of his brother near his back, Albus suddenly felt very safe. Almost as if no monster in whole wide world could touch him if his brother was near.

* * *

 **Thank you to AelysAlthea and 2DaughtersOfAthena for betaing!**

 **Please review!**


	10. Chapter 10

After only one week on the run, Ron decided he hated camping. He hated the wetness that never allowed you to dry completely; he hated that it was either too hot and stuffy in the tent or bitingly cold; he hated the hunger which the burned or the too bland meals Hermione prepared never managed to satisfy; he hated the exhaustion that the sleep never really wiped away; he hated the nightmares; he hated keeping watch with nothing but his wand and a jar with blue flames; and, most of all, he hated the blasted locket.

The Horcrux never stopped whispering things to him, awful things. Things that made his skin crawl or his heart stop with fear.

However, every time he took it off the relief was short-lived. Firstly, he knew it would be his turn to wear it again soon, and, secondly, he still loathed every aspect of camping.

Every day, he discovered something else he disliked. At first, it had only been the uncomfortable and stone-hard bed that hardly allowed him to sleep and let him wake up feeling like a herd of hippogriffs had trampled him.

Then it was the tent itself. He hated to see the same worn-down carpet every morning or the same filtered light during the day that tinted the insides of the tent in semi-darkness as soon as the sun began to sink. He hated the rickety chairs and the broken heater that nobody managed to repair properly.

But soon, it was not only the tent he loathed, but the surroundings themselves. The woods were a hideous place to live. He was used to the creaking of trees, but what unsettled him most was the absolute silence. It was never silent in the Burrow. Here, it felt like everything else was dead and he was the only one left with a heartbeat. But then, there was the sudden cracking of branches at night that made him jolt awake in fear of Snatchers; the low rustling of wind through dead leaves as if a cloak were brushing over them; the eerie cries of nightly animals. He'd never hated nature this much before.

In the end, he realised he couldn't take it any longer. He couldn't take Hermione's optimism or Harry's silent brooding. He couldn't bear listening to the wireless one more time, waiting for the names of his family to come up. He just couldn't travel aimlessly around the country anymore without a plan to either destroy the Horcrux they already had or find another one. And, most of all, he couldn't bear hearing the poisonous words the blasted thing whispered to him, and he couldn't bear the thought of Hermione and Harry together, leaving him behind.

He had to do something _now_! He had reached his limit. _This far and not further_ , he told himself, taking the decision to act.

He would not stay in this godforsaken place, this creepy forest, this terrible tent for one more second.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 5*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt:** Camping

 **W/C: 496**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This can be seen as a continuation of last round's short (chapter 7), but it works as a standalone.**

 **Thank you too AlixxBlack, Rejooc, and 2DaughtersOfAthena, who have bravely betaed this story! You're amazing!**

 **Enjoy! And don't forget to review!**

* * *

 ** _5:04 pm._**

Harry's gaze swept over the destruction the intruder had caused in the small library at Grimmauld Place. His eyes desperately searched for a clue that might have been left behind when Ginny had been abducted. There _had_ to be something!

Exactly 34 minutes ago, Harry had received a message from the known killer – a killer the Auror department had been hunting for the past two years. It had implied that he'd be targeting his wife and that Harry wouldn't have much time to save her.

 _The game is on_ , the killer had written. _You have one hour._

Harry, however, had thought he could still beat him here.

But he hadn't. His wife was gone and Hermione, who had been visiting Ginny, had been hurt badly.

The worst of it was that he didn't even know where to start searching for the psychopath since Hermione was still unconscious.

"If he hurts her, I'll kill him myself," Ron said threateningly, staring into the flames dancing in the fireplace. A paper in his hand rustled loudly when he tightened his fist.

Harry swallowed and his gaze focused on the small piece of paper. "What do you have there?"

Surprised, Ron opened his hand and stared at the crumbled parchment. "I … Hermione had it in her hand. I totally forgot about it."

When Harry had found the unconscious and bleeding Hermione, he had first alerted Ron and then St. Mungo's and the Auror department. Ron had come first and tried to help his wife. That was when he must have found the paper in her hand.

Clumsily, Ron smoothed it out on the table. "That's … she must have taken some – but how …?"

"Complete sentences, please!" Harry said brusquely.

A smile spread on Ron's face. "It's an address! That's our new product – telepathic parchment. You can transfer your thoughts directly onto it. It's not ready for sale yet as it still mixes things up. Yesterday, for example, we tried to transfer –"

Harry ignored Ron's explanation and ripped the sheet of paper from his friend's hand.

All it said was _23-24 Leinster Gardens_.

* * *

 _ **5:09 pm.**_

Harry's heartbeat was loud in his ears when he apparated in front of a row of unremarkable white houses.

"Which one is it?" Ron asked next to him. His breathing was ragged and uneven from panic.

Harry's gaze darted over the houses and finally fixed on the fake windows, which were painted on to match the other houses. "There. What kind of place is this?"

"Muggles normally don't notice it, and if they do, they don't think anything of it," a deep voice said behind them and they both spun around, wands drawn.

In front of them stood a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned wizard.

"Kingsley!" Harry exclaimed.

The Minister of Magic nodded. "When I heard about what happened, I came at once. I could find you because you left the parchment behind," he paused and his eyes wandered over the pretty houses. "The official lie is that 23-24 Leinster Gardens was used as ventilation shaft. And, at some point, it was for the old steam-powered underground trains. But now they're no longer in use, so our Ministry took advantage of the empty space in the middle of London."

Harry frowned, impatience obvious on his features. "Great. Can we go save Ginny now?" He was running out of time. _One hour_ , the killer had said. And almost half of it was up already.

He didn't wait for approval from Kingsley, although the Minister was technically his superior. Without knowing what he'd actually find inside, he ran up the steps to the entrance and pushed the unlocked doors open. Ron and Kingsley followed him closely behind.

Suddenly, he was standing in a wide room that was flooded with warm golden light. It smelled of parchment, ink, and dust. It was quiet. Not eerily quiet, but a silence full of tranquillity and contentment.

He stood in a gigantic library.

"Wicked," Ron whispered behind him. "No wonder Hermione knew the address."

Harry nodded absently; his eyes glided along the endless bookshelves, searching for any sign of Ginny. _Why would he bring her here,_ he wondered. _Wouldn't the librarian notice?_

His gaze darted over the infinite number of rows of leather-bound books, over wizards and witches that were either reading or writing something down at the tables, but he didn't find what he was looking for.

"She's not here," he finally said, terror seeping into his voice.

"She has to be!" Ron contradicted, more out of desperation than knowledge.

Harry turned around to him and the Minister. "But it doesn't make sense. Why a library? Why _this_ library?"

Kingsley narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Let's ask around if someone has seen them or noticed anything peculiar."

Harry nodded and walked over to a receptionist behind a desk. "Excuse me."

She looked up from her novel, her eyes widening as she realised who stood in front of her. "Y-yes?" she stuttered.

"Have you by any chance seen a woman with red hair?" he asked, stumbling over the words in haste. _Hurry, hurry, hurry_ , his mind screamed at him.

"A woman with red hair?" the librarian repeated. "Like your wife?"

Harry clenched his jaw and nodded. "Exactly."

She looked at him for a second, thinking, then frowned. "No. I'm sorry, Mr. Potter."

He suppressed a curse and was just about to turn away when a flash of inspiration hit him. "Is there another entrance to this library?"

"Why do you ask?" she asked, tilting her head.

"I need to know. Someone might be in danger!" he hissed louder than he had intended. Harry had never been the most patient person.

She flinched and her eyes grew even bigger. "You mean … oh! Of course, Mr. Potter. There's nothing official, but there's a back door in the cellar."

"The cellar?" he repeated blankly.

"Yes. We use it to repair books," she added, "but I don't like it much. You can hear the underground." She wrinkled her nose.

 _The underground_! Fear gripped him and his fingers started to shake. "Where is it? Quickly!"

The woman stared at him in shock, and only then did he realise that he had screamed at her. He didn't care. "Show me!" he repeated.

She jumped up and walked briskly around the desk. Jerkily, Harry signalled Ron and Kingsley to follow, and together they marched across the library to a small door on the other side. The librarian opened it and stepped back. "Down there," she whispered.

"Thank you," Harry said and sprinted down the stairs. Again, Ron and Kingsley followed him.

He was greeted by grey concrete walls and dimly lit hallways.

"What did she say?" Ron asked behind him while Harry stepped towards the first door and opened it.

"That you can hear the underground."

"And?" Ron asked.

Harry crossed the floor to open the next door. Another lab, it seemed. "You know how he kills people," Harry answered in a dead voice.

The serial-killer who had abducted Ginny liked to show off his victims, to make a show out of killing them, to tell a story with it. At first they had suspected it was some kind of vigilante who finished off Death Eaters that had got away, some Muggle-born or Half-blood who wanted revenge. He rarely used magic – and never an Unforgivable – to kill his victims, but, for example, locked them in a house and burned it down – like he'd done with Nott Senior – or threw them into a lake and let them drown – like he'd done with Crabbe Senior.

Ron stiffened next to him and then hurried to help open the doors. Most were unlocked, but all they found were labs, small offices, or shelves with books.

"This place is huge. How are we going to find her?" Ron whispered, his voice reverberating through the empty hallway.

Harry glanced over at Kingsley, who had started searching the rooms on the other side of the stairwell. He knew that even if they searched as fast as they could, they still might not find her in time. But he wouldn't allow that thought into his mind.

"I found stairs," the Minister of Magic suddenly exclaimed, sparing Harry the answer.

He and Ron instantly ran over to the older wizard. Kingsely was right. A small set of stairs behind an iron door led down to another level.

They exchanged a meaningful look and advanced with their wands drawn. The first thing Harry noticed was the smell – the characteristic stale air of the underground. Then, he heard the familiar noise: a low humming getting louder and louder until it blocked every other sound. The ground shook slightly.

"At least, we know we're at the right place," Ron mouthed.

Taking each step with deliberate caution, they moved forward. The rattling of the trains muffled the sounds of their footsteps in the empty hallway. They followed the sounds, going in the direction of the train tracks. Eventually, they reached an opening.

Without thinking, Harry stepped forward onto the small platform. " _Lumos_." A dim light appeared at the tip of his wand and illuminated the sombre tunnel.

 _There_ , he thought.

A few metres ahead, hanging in the air unconscious, was a red-haired woman. She was bound by a magical rope and a purple shadow of a bruise was visible on her cheek and upper arm.

"Ginny!" Harry couldn't stop himself from calling out to her. Suddenly, he didn't care if the kidnapper could hear him.

His wife's lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes; her amber met his emerald. When she saw him, she opened her mouth as if to scream, but no sound came out.

"Blimey," Ron suddenly said behind him, nudging Harry with his elbow. "A countdown."

"What?" Harry frowned and looked in the direction Ron pointed. He was right. A countdown in blue light was ticking down on the floor.

Only two minutes fifty seconds remaining.

* * *

 _ **5:28 pm.**_

"What do we do?" Ron whispered, his face half in the shadows.

Harry didn't waste time with an answer and then cast a spell promptly, " _Finite Incantatem_." He aimed it at Ginny, hoping it might do one of two things, if not both: eliminate the silencing charm or cut through the cursed ropes binding her.

"You really shouldn't've done that," Kingsely said flatly and Harry's eyes snapped to the countdown.

Nearly a minute having ticked by, there was only one minute and forty-five seconds remaining.

The spell had only caused the countdown to tick down faster.

"I'm going up there!" he cried out, ready to levitate himself. Maybe he could somehow catch her before she fell.

"Wait."

Harry turned and stared directly at Kingsley's tip of wand. The Minister of Magic smiled smugly; an unusual expression for the easy-going wizard.

"I knew you'd show up eventually," Kingsley said. "And I knew you'd trust him. Me, I mean," he laughed lowly. "The girls trusted him as well."

The terrible truth dawned on Harry, but, before he could react, the faux-Kingsley had disarmed both him and Ron. He must have used Polyjuice Potion to mask himself as the Minister of Magic.

The kidnapper had been right, by the way; Harry hadn't doubted Kingsley even for a second.

"I simply couldn't miss the opportunity to watch. I know I shouldn't, but –" he shrugged. "It was just too tempting."

With a flick of his wand, the man released magical ropes that wound around Harry's and Ron's wrists, securing them on the wall so that they couldn't move at all. The harsh material of the rope gnashed into Harry's flesh, but he didn't feel it. In fact, he couldn't feel anything at all. The betrayal, the panic, and the fear for Ginny left him numb. He didn't even know how he managed to stand upright when his knees felt like jelly.

"Now _watch_ ," the devil's cruel voice said with a smile.

Harry didn't watch the countdown, though. All he saw were the hazel eyes of his wife.

He knew he had lost. He couldn't fight the ropes or the Kingsley imposter, and the bonds prevented him from walking right onto the tracks to somehow try to save her.

Next to him, Ron screamed and fought, but Harry simply felt hollow as if all strength had left him.

From the corner of the eye, he realised there were merely ten seconds left.

"Ginny," he choked out, not knowing what he wanted to say. His first instinct was to apologise, but he knew that was not what she would want to hear.

"I love –"

 _Beep_.

A loud noise signalled the end of the countdown.

* * *

 _ **5:30 pm.**_

Suddenly, every single detail of the room rushed at Harry: the flickering of the electric lights in the tunnel, the flash of Ginny's red hair, the low buzzing that signalled an approaching train, the panic and despair in the most wonderful eyes in the world.

Then, Ginny fell. She fell like a puppet, and all he could do was stand there and watch.

And Harry felt as if he was falling too – the world was spinning and collapsing around him – but his feet remained firmly on the ground and he didn't understand why.

Suddenly, the lights went out and it was pitch-black on the platform. The noise from the incoming train was so loud that he didn't even hear Ron's screaming.

He blinked in an attempt to pierce through the shadows but the effort was futile. However, Harry didn't need a light to know what had happened. Ginny must have fallen on the tracks.

Before he could even begin to hope that she might have survived that, a train rushed by. Its windows were filled with the tired faces of those who knew nothing about the tragedy that had just happened…

… and then it was over …

Ginny was _dead_.

And his time to save her had run out.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 5*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category:** **Short**

 **Prompt:** Running out of time [Prompt]

 **W/C: 2, 321**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Tada! The next nerve-racking, heartbreaking story for you, guys. This is definitely AU.** **The quote is by Laini Taylor.**

 **Thank you to AelysAlthea and 2DaughtersOfAthena for beating!  
**

* * *

 _Once upon a time, an angel and a devil fell in love. It did not end well._

* * *

"Run, Malfoy. Goddamit, come on!" Hermione cried desperately and pulled him over the uneven forest floor. He heard the Snatchers call to each other and the cracking branches under their feet. They were close now. Too close. _Way_ too close.

He didn't know how they had managed to discover them – but for now it didn't really matter because the important point was that they _had_. It was too late to worry about the 'how' of their discovery.

"Draco! We're gonna make it, I promise!" Hermione beside him panted as if she had read his thoughts. He was quite sure it was impossible to reach the safety of the hidden cave and the tent, where Potter and Weasley were waiting for them.

But he still clenched his teeth and ran. His ankle sent burning pain up his legs – he'd accidentally stumbled over a root when glancing back at their pursuers – and his breath came in panicked gasps. He couldn't run much further and much faster, but if he didn't, they'd catch them. They'd slipped up, had been discovered, and they could catch them. Draco didn't want to think about what would happen if they did.

 _We would die._

The thought pushed itself inadvertently into his mind, together with images of a tortured girl. He couldn't let that happen. Not to her. Not again.

Suddenly, Draco stumbled and fell to the harsh ground, twisting his already hurt ankle. Hermione grabbed his elbow and pulled him back up with more strength than she could possibly possess being exhausted and hurt as she was.

"Draco!" she screamed, panic-stricken, sending a curse over her shoulder. "Please!"

He only hissed lowly and tried to repress the pain in his ankle, which had doubled with his recent fall. But he couldn't permit himself to slow down. They had lost precious seconds with his clumsiness, seconds they would need to climb into the hidden cave and warn their friends.

The Snatchers were close now. He could hear their panting and the curses flying over their heads. A Cutting Curse hit the witch beside him and she stumbled. Now it was his turn to pull her forward.

"Just my arm," she choked out and kept on running. How could she be so strong? Draco had never realised before that she was the strongest person he knew.

"Hermione," he uttered breathlessly. "I can't … you keep on running, go to the cave, and Disapparate with them at once. I'll lure them … away."

She ignored his words, instead pulling him roughly down the slope. He could already see the covert entrance of the cave.

 _Safety_.

But the Snatchers would be able to see it as well. They'd find them, would see them, would know where they were.

"Hermione!" he pleaded. " _Please_. Hide."

"I won't leave you. You saved us. I can't leave you behind," she answered stubbornly, but seemed to realise that they would lead the Snatchers right to their hiding place.

They both knew that they couldn't risk the discovery of Potter and Weasley. It would be the end of the Wizarding World; well, probably the end of the Muggle World as well. It was bad enough that he and Hermione had been stupid enough to be followed by Snatchers.

Hermione pulled her wand. " _Expecto Patronum_."

He barely noticed the silver otter that sprang from her wand. Then she aimed it backwards. " _Bombarda maxima_."

The explosion threw them forward and Draco fell down again.

" _Reducto_." With a quick wave of her wand, Hermione had lifted the wards and aimed the Reductor Curse at the secret entrance of the hidden cave. With a bit of luck, it would look as if it had been affected by the explosion. Potter and Weasley would be safe.

Hermione grabbed Draco's arm again and pulled him to his feet. A red jet of light missed her by a hair's breadth. Quickly, Draco followed her example and fired another _Bombarda_ at the Snatchers. This time, the explosion was much closer and much more powerful, and it whirled them through the air like puppets.

All air was pushed out of his lungs when he landed hard on the ground. Draco was sure that at least one rib was broken. It hurt like hell. Still, he turned his head and searched for Hermione. There. Chestnut-coloured curls were spread over fallen leaves.

"Hermione?"

She stirred and looked up. Draco cringed when her brown eyes met his grey ones. They were so full of determination it scared him. Although he could see that she was in pain, she got up and hobbled over to him.

"Get up, Malfoy," she commanded roughly and tried to pull him to his feet. "We need to Disapparate."

He reached for his wand, but it was gone. It must have fallen out of his hand. "My wand," he gasped.

"Dammit. Malfoy," she cursed. " _Accio_."

The walnut wand – the wand of his aunt – zoomed through the air, and Draco caught it with the hand of a Seeker. At once, he fired a stunning spell at a Snatcher, who was just about to stand up.

"Let's go," he growled and clenched his teeth in pain, trying desperately to pull himself up.

"Do you trust me?" Hermione whispered and took his hand.

"Do you even have to ask?" Draco rolled his eyes and turned with her on the spot, but there was no feeling of being pressed very hard from all directions, and the world around them stayed just the same.

"Anti-Disapparition-Jinx," Hermione realised and looked at him with large eyes. They were trapped, surrounded by Death Eaters and Snatchers. There was no way out.

Simultaneously, they held their wands tight in front of them, back to back, almost touching each other.

There was no question of what Draco would do. He wasn't a coward anymore, and he wouldn't give up. He had come to realise that he'd give everything for Hermione and for the cause: the destruction of Voldemort. Since their time on the run, there was a new strength inside of him, a strength of will he had discovered about himself.

And all it had taken for him to find out who he really was arose from the girl and her two friends on a suicide mission to kill the biggest monster of them all.

Draco's only regret in that moment was that Hermione would be killed as well. He wished he could explain everything to her – his behaviour, his beliefs, his feelings – before they died, because die they would.

"Hermione, I …" he choked out, reaching for her hand.

"I know," she whispered and took it.

Together, they awaited their fate. They might die, but they would do it fighting.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 5*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt:** Hidden Cave [Location]

 **W/C: 1, 133**

* * *

 **Would you like to see this expanded as a story? Please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thank you to 2DaughtersOfAthena, BeckInTime, and TartCat207 for betaing!**

 **Enjoy! And review obviously! :P**

* * *

Seamus didn't hate school, but he didn't particularly _like_ school either. Maybe it was because he was the only one of his magical friends to attend school. Or maybe it was because it made him feel ordinary; like any other Muggle child. Or maybe it was because he didn't have any true friends in school.

Everyone in the Muggle village knew that something was off with his family. They couldn't exactly determine what it was, but somehow they _knew_. And it had never been as obvious as when he had started school. That day – the first day – he had taken extra-care with his school uniform and combed his hair. He had washed his always-dirty hands and had avoided any steps he could fall over and embarrass himself.

Still. Nobody sat beside him in class.

The teacher looked at him and raised one eyebrow as if to say: "So, you're the Finnigan kid?"

And Seamus felt like he had failed. Failed in school already. Failed in making friends. Failed in appearing like a Muggle. But at the same time, failed in being a wizard. It had been nagging at him for ages that he had never actually displayed any kind of magical ability. His dad hadn't mind, of course, being a Muggle himself, and his mother had been ever-supporting. But still, it gnawed at him. It made him feel even more of an oddity than he already was in a purely non-magical community.

He didn't fit here.

But he didn't fit into the magical world either as long as he hadn't shown he could actually use magic. Yes, he could fly on brooms and he could post letters in the owl-post, but that didn't say anything about him being a wizard.

He wanted to find his magic so badly, he often played with the thought of doing something dangerous, just to see if the magic would save him. He climbed on the top of the school building three times in the first week, but he never jumped. He had played with the thought of running right into the traffic or something equally stupid and reckless, but he had never dared to act on it.

Of course, he wouldn't. He didn't want to die if he was Squib after all. But he needed to _know_.

He needed to know where his place was in this world. He needed to know if he would ever go to Hogwarts and leave this stupid school behind. He needed to know if he would be able to apparate. He needed to know that there was a place where he would just fit and that there were people who would accept him without questions.

One day after class, when he had been day dreaming once again, walking world-forgotten along the street, a voice made him snap out of it.

"Ey, Finnigan!"

He looked up and watched three third-graders walk towards him. The expression on their faces told him that they were looking for trouble. That was so not good. Seamus was tall for his age and rather muscular. But they were still older. He knew their reputation. They always bullied and picked on first years.

"What do you want?" he asked, unafraid. He would not be intimidated by some would-be Cowboys.

"Is it true your dad wanted to leave?" one asked provocatively.

"Yeah, did he finally realise that something's wrong with you," another said.

"Nothing's wrong with me," Seamus replied curtly and tried to push by.

"So, he doesn't mind that your mum's a witch?"

Seamus froze. "What did you just say?"

Encouraged, the third-grader continued, "Yeah, Jimmy said she worships Satan. He said he's seen her wearing creepy black robes and a pentagram around the neck. He said she doesn't go to church because the holy ground would burn her. He said –"

"That's rubbish," Seamus interrupted him in a shaky voice. "Don't talk about my mam like that." With every word he uttered, his shock turned into rage. The boys knew nothing about his mother; they were just trying to hurt him.

"So if she's a witch, you must be some kind of sorcerer," the third boy said, seemingly unimpressed by Seamus' anger.

"You know they used burn witches and warlocks in earlier times," another continued, smiling smugly. "Maybe, we should burn you."

"Or, maybe, we should burn that filthy scum you call moth–" the first one threatened.

A punch hit him before he could finish his sentence. Seamus didn't care that the guys were a head taller than him. Nobody threatened or insulted his mother and got away with it!

The blond boy recoiled from the blow but then caught himself, a menacing look appearing on his face. "Did you just hit me, you little …" he spluttered, launching himself at the younger boy.

Seamus had never been in a fight before, not in this kind of fight anyway. And yet, somehow he knew what to do. It all depended on hurting the others more than they hurt you. But he also knew that he was outnumbered.

All of a sudden, he was on the ground and all the air was pushed out of his lungs. His head hurt from hitting the pavement and his vision blurred.

Gasping for breath, he tried to get up to continue fighting – he wasn't a quitter after all. Then, he saw a fist racing towards his face, and, instinctively, he threw up his arms to protect himself. But the blow never came.

A hysterical scream pierced the air.

And, then, everything was wet.

Carefully, Seamus peeked through his lashes at the scene that played out in front of him. The red fire hydrant next to him had suddenly exploded and crystal-clear but icy water cascaded down on them, wetting their clothes and drowning their school books.

With terrified squeaks, the three boys ran away, but Seamus didn't move. He just sat there and laughed.

Once, because he had won his first fight.

And, secondly, because he had done magic. Real, actual, visible _magic_.

It felt like nothing he had ever felt before. Triumphant, powerful, mesmerizing, uncontrollable, unpredictable, unexpected.

He didn't mind that all his school books were nothing but wet lumps of paper and that the water was freezing. He didn't mind that the boys would come back to taunt him.

He didn't mind because he had found his place in the world.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Bonus Round 3*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category:** Third person, past tense.

 **Prompt:** Findings one's magic, First fight

 **W/C: 1, 066**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thank you to AlixxBlack, BackInTime, and especially 2DaughtersOfAthena for betaing!**

 **This could be seen as a continuation of the "Dementor"-piece, so it's AU as well.**

 **Leave me your thoughts, guys!**

* * *

Draco had been woken by the heat in the tent. The cave they'd placed it in didn't seem to provide any coolness, but rather cooked them like a stone oven. With nothing else to do in the night, Draco watched Hermione watching Ron.

Her face looked so tender that he wanted to touch her. He wanted to feel her skin on his; he wanted to feel the safety she'd always evoke in him. But the way she looked at Ron stopped him. If he'd ever doubted her feelings towards him, it was evident now - her eyes glinted with love.

Ron was a lucky bastard.

Suddenly, Hermione's head snapped towards him and she met his gaze. He stiffened instantly and looked away. She'd caught him staring again.

"How is he?" Draco breathed to hide his mistake.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Carefully, he glanced back at her, but she'd averted her eyes back to the sick boy. After that swim in the icy lake, Ron'd come down with pneumonia. Nothing – absolutely nothing- they had tried worked.

"He's still quite warm. The fever should be better by now," she added in a concerned voice.

Draco sighed. When the fever had hit Ron with full force, he'd fallen into a delirious sleep.

"Is there nothing we can do? Maybe a cooler spot…" he silenced himself. He knew they couldn't apparate with Ron so sick. But he was feeling restless.

Hermione didn't answer.

"Maybe a new potion," he offered.

She gritted her teeth and furiously wiped her hand over her eyes. "Which one? I checked my handbag a dozen times. We don't have enough ingredients, and we can't go into a shop to buy one," she hissed, then refocused on Ron. With a wet cloth, she dabbed his burning forehead.

Without warning, the entrance of the tent rustled and Harry entered. "Draco's right."

Hermione turned around to snap at him, but he spoke before she could. "We've been so stupid, Hermione, trusting _only_ Wizarding medicine."

"Oh!" She smacked the palm of her hand to her forehead. "That's brilliant!"

"What's brilliant?" Draco asked, sitting up.

" _Muggle_ medicine!" For a second, Hermione looked happy enough to sing and dance.

Harry nodded feverishly. "Yes, antibiotics should do the trick. We just need to apparate to the next village and –"

"- buy some," Hermione completed his sentence. "Brilliant!"

"What the hell are antibiotics?" Draco asked, unimpressed.

"A type of Muggle drug used in the treatment and prevention of bacterial infections," Hermione explained. Impatiently, she stood up and began pacing. "We might have enough pounds, if not –"

"- we steal it," Harry agreed. They were starting to get on Draco's nerves, completing each other's sentences. "Wait? You want to go into a Muggle city? Are you insane?" Draco asked, crossing his arms. They clearly weren't thinking straight. Cities could be monitored; they could be detected at any time.

However, his concerns were ignored and they planned anyway. "I'll go try to buy some," Hermione said.

"I'm coming with," Harry agreed, determined.

"No, not you. Draco's coming," she contradicted, and Draco understood that she wanted to protect Harry at all costs. She pulled him up roughly. "Put on a clean shirt, and then we're leaving."

"A Muggle city?" he repeated.

"No time for prejudice," she seethed as she opened her enchanted handbag.

He rolled his eyes. "You know exactly that that's not what I –"

"Yes," she interrupted him. "Just hurry." She took out an ugly black shirt with lettering reading 'NIRVANA' and a yellow smiley face from the handbag, and then threw it at him.

"What's Nirvana?" he asked incredulous while slipping out of the simple white shirt he was wearing. Muggles wore this?

"A band," Hermione replied in passing, rummaging through the handbag with the Undetectable Extension Charm on it and pulling out a bunch of things. A red pair of socks. A book on Transfiguration. Dittany's essence. " _Here we are now, entertain us_!"

"I - what?"

"It's a quote. _Smells like teen spirit_ ," she explained curtly. Although, to Draco, it explained absolutely nothing at all. "Where the heck is my –" Hermione cursed silently and roughly put her diary, a packet of biscuits, a pocket watch, a handful of safety pins, and duct tape down on the table. "Got it!" she then exclaimed and held up her wallet. "You should listen to them sometime."

"When the war's over," Draco mumbled, which effectively meant never, but she smiled at him as though he meant it. She probably thought he did.

"Let's go." She turned to Harry. "I'm only taking the wallet, so take care of the handbag if…" she bit her lip. "Well, you know."

Harry nodded. "Be careful, Mione."

"You too," she whispered and hugged the black-haired boy. She didn't cry, but somehow their farewell seemed incredibly intense. They didn't need words, just little gestures that seemed to convey a whole conversation. Draco quickly averted his eyes, feeling out of place again. They were family, and he was …?

"You too, Draco," Harry said silently and Draco looked up, surprised to hear real worry in his voice.

"Oh, we're like cockroaches. Indestructible," he muttered with a fake smile. Then, he climbed out of the cave while Hermione said goodbye to Ron.

He'd been in Diagon Alley. How hard could a Muggle pharmacy be?

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 6*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Enchanted Handbag**

 **W/C: 889**


	15. Chapter 15

**Summer 1997**

Draco Malfoy sat at the dining table at his home – however, it didn't seem like his home anymore. Now, it was the headquarters of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord; it felt like they had brought a dark shadow with them that would never leave. Their darkness had crept into the rooms and made them cold and uncomfortable. The evil that had taken possession of this house even invaded his sleep, and nightmares haunted him every night.

He was seldom alone. Often, his aunt, Bellatrix, or the Dark Lord himself claimed a place at their table or a whole floor for their plans. Just like tonight. There was to be another meeting. However, his godfather and Yaxley were still missing.

While Draco sat there and waited, he tried very hard not to look up to the bound and tortured woman above him. He knew that she used to be a teacher at Hogwarts - Charity Burbage, Professor for Muggle Studies.

Her hands were tied to the back and her long dirty blonde hair only hung a few inches above him. He could see a laceration at her temple, where someone must have hit her. She looked still young. About thirty, Draco guessed.

He remembered her from school of course. Not that he had had much interaction with her. But he had seen her in the hallways and had eaten with her in the Great Hall.

Draco couldn't explain the feelings seeing her here evoked in him. Shouldn't he feel victorious or gloat over her misfortune as others did? But instead he felt … guilty and scared.

 _He_ had let this happen. He had been a key player in the Dark Lord's rising, and he couldn't bring himself to be proud of it. In the eyes of the others, he had of course failed. He hadn't been able to fulfil his task. And, now, his family had to pay for it.

All the things his father had told him – the reign of the purebloods, the visions of the Dark Lord – were to come true. Burbage was the prime example for that. So he should feel joyous or at least expectant, but he didn't. He hadn't meant for a war to happen. He hadn't meant for people to be tortured and die. Even Mudbloods and Muggles. There was just a feeling of wrongness about it that he couldn't shake.

Again his eyes flickered up to the unconscious professor. She was only here because she had taught Muggle Studies. Draco had read her editorial in the Daily Prophet, defending Muggles, muggle-borns and half-bloods. Obviously, he didn't agree with her. Or, at least, he _should_ not agree with her.

He _knew_ they were below him. That was something he had been taught before he had been able to walk. He _knew_ the Dark Lord was right in his reach for power, and he _knew_ he should be proud of serving him. But he couldn't bring himself to feel any of this.

Suddenly, the door opened and Snape and Yaxley entered. Draco tried very hard to ignore the conversation, to tune out the high-pitched voice of the white-faced monster next to him. But every now and then, snippets of conversation reached him.

Voldemort was speaking, "Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance... She would have us all mate with Muggles …"

Bellatrix's maniacal cackle reverberated through the room.

Draco felt sick. The nausea ebbed and flowed in his stomach, and he gagged.

The hand of his mother gently touched his in passing, and he tried to pull himself together. He knew that he couldn't let his feelings show. He understood that nobody could know that he pitied Professor Burbage, that he wished she was somewhere safe.

Suddenly, Charity Burbage spoke and her words hit him like a high-speed train. "Severus, please. We're friends."

It was nearly the same thing Dumbledore had said that night on the Astronomy tower. Just before he had been killed by the person the headmaster had also considered a friend. Severus Snape. And it had again been Draco's doing, Draco's failure.

Suddenly, Draco wished his godfather would jump up and save her. But – naturally – he didn't.

Inevitably like fate, the Killing Curse hit the sobbing woman. Her body crashed down on the table with a sickening thud, and Draco felt his fingers starting to shake. The dimly glittering body of Nagini glided towards the dead professor, and Draco closed his eyes.

What had he done? How could his life have led to this? His mistakes were never as clear to him as now. But they shouldn't be mistakes. So why did this feel so wrong?

Draco didn't know. He only knew that he couldn't bear it any longer, that he wasn't strong enough to survive this. But there was no way out. He had manoeuvred himself into this position – or hat let himself be manoeuvred by his father, like a pawn – and now his life was over.

He caught a glimpse of blonde hair drenched in something red and sticky, and it made him realise that everything he had thought he ever wanted was what he didn't want at all.

Even after he had gone to bed, the feeling of wrongness lingered in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the image of the tormented and murdered woman. Charity Burbage.

Draco knew she would haunt him for the rest of his life.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 6*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Charity Burbage**

 **W/C: 923**


	16. Chapter 16

Harry was on his way back from tea at Hagrid's when the rain caught him. One second, it had been sunny – only white, puffy clouds on the sky – the next, it started to pour down.

Slate-coloured clouds came rolling over the Scottish mountains, bringing storm and thunder with them. Instantly, it became dark outside. There was no lone ray of sunlight as sharp, flowing sheets of water crashed down on the earth like bullets.

Within the blink of an eye, Harry was soaked to the skin. His school robes clung uncomfortably to his body and his shoes squeaked. He felt like he was wading through marshland. Mud flowed into his shoes and the torrential rain obstructed his vision. Shivering, he wiped the water out of his eyes. He felt cold and disgustingly wet.

As Harry started to run, the muddy ground sucked his feet in. He could barely see. Only the golden light glowing through the windows of the Great Hall served him as his guide.

When he reached the main path, running became easier. His breathing was hard and ragged. He could already see the entrance to castle.

The lashing downpour was so thick that Harry almost missed it - light, blonde hair, shining like a little sun in the apocalyptic thunderstorm. He stopped and stared at the drenched girl, standing on the lawn.

"Luna?" he had to scream for her to hear him through the loud drumming of the raindrops.

"Harry!" she exclaimed and walked over to him. "I didn't know you liked the rain."

"I don't," he deadpanned. The dry space beneath the canopy was only a few metres away, but Luna seemed in no mood to move.

"I want to be free like the rain," she suddenly announced and turned to gaze over the grounds.

"What?" Harry asked blankly. Gesturing towards the castle, he said, "Don't you want to go inside? It's freezing."

Luna didn't seem to hear him because she still stared into the distance.

"Okay," he murmured uncomfortably, shifting his weight. "I'm going."

Her hand came out of nowhere and turned him around. "What do you see?" she asked, nodding towards the grounds of Hogwarts.

Harry blinked. "Rain?"

He felt rather than saw the smile on her face. "Freedom."

Harry frowned, wondering what she meant. What was he missing? His eyes travelled over the mountains that were covered in dark, threatening clouds to the storm-tossed Black Lake. The tempest toyed with the raindrops, driving them first in one then the other direction, pushing them against windows and roofs, and transforming them into rock-hard water that that hit the earth like hail. The patter of the raindrops was loud in his ears.

It was powerful, unstoppable, ferocious, terrible, and … beautiful in a way.

Suddenly, Harry knew what she meant. In her mind, she didn't see the downsides for the humans – the wetness, the destruction, and the cold – but the magnificence of nature. Yes, the rain was free. It travelled wherever it wanted to go, and whatever the humans tried, they would never manage to stop it.

"I never noticed the beauty before," Harry whispered and turned to her.

"Let's go inside. It's freezing," Luna replied, unfazed.

Smiling to himself, Harry followed her into the warmth. All of a sudden, he thought he understood her a little bit better.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 7*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Caught out in the rain**

 **W/C: 554**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Review please! *waves***

* * *

Crossroads

* * *

"Please, Penny. Will you just stop and listen to me?" Percy called after her as she nearly ran along the hallway to escape him. Her breath came in ragged gasps and her heart beat loudly in her chest.

Penelope's encounter with the Basilisk hadn't been that long ago and she was still deeply shaken by it. Although she knew that the monster was dead – killed by Harry Potter himself – she still felt a little over-exposed walking around in the castle.

And right now, Penelope didn't want to listen to Percy. She was too mad – or maybe 'too mad' was the wrong phrase. She was utterly confused by Percy's behaviour. She needed to clear her thoughts before she had to face him again. On one hand, he kept her close, but on the other hand, he put on a façade, pretending to not know her in public.

The attack on her had changed him, though. From the moment she had woken up from the petrifaction, he hadn't left her side. He, for example, had tried to inconspicuously accompany her to classes because he understood how much empty hallways scared her. Of course, that in itself wasn't a bad thing. She wanted him close. But then, her mind would start racing, trying to decipher what it all meant.

He'd always wanted to keep their relationship a secret, wanted to keep _her_ a secret. No public meetings, no Hogsmeade weekends, no walking hand in hand through the hallways. Just kisses in empty, dusty classrooms, and letters.

She'd had enough of that.

"Penny!" Percy called again, grabbing her elbow before she tore herself away from him.

"What do you want?" she snapped, finally turning around to face him. His glasses sat crookedly on his nose and his face was reddened from running.

"I –" he stammered. Jerkily, he straightened his glasses, pulling himself together. "Let's go in there." He pointed to a classroom door.

"No," she contradicted. "We're going to do this right here."

Percy glanced around. The corridor was deserted with no unwelcome spectators in sight. "Fine," he sighed. "What's going on, Penny?"

"You know exactly what's going on. Why won't you stand by me, acknowledge me as your girlfriend? I'm not even sure if I'm still your girlfriend."

"Of course, you're my girlfr –" he started, but she held up her hand.

"Don't interrupt me. Do you think I don't notice? I'm a Ravenclaw if you've forgotten. We're known to be pretty smart," she deadpanned.

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Percy spluttered exasperatedly.

Penelope stared at him for a few seconds. "I don't believe you. I know that Ginny knows, and yet, you still shun me in front of your family as if I'm a leper. Why?"

Percy opened his mouth and closed it again.

She'd had enough of excuses, enough of hiding away in classrooms. _Enough_. "How do you feel about me, Perce? Do like me enough to be seen with me?" she added, softer. Percy only paled. Not the reaction she had hoped for.

It hurt. It hurt so badly that her voice cracked. "Talk to me or it's over. You have three seconds. 3, 2, 1," she counted down.

He looked at her like a deer in the spotlight, mouth silently opening. He appeared as if he was seeing her for the first time. Silence seemed to be his answer. Abruptly, Penelope turned around and stormed off. Enough was enough.

"Penny!" he called, sounding desperate.

Penelope ignored him, stomping stubbornly down the hallway.

Suddenly, Percy's voice broke the silence. "I love you."

She stopped in her tracks. What had he just said? Unfortunately, she paused long enough for him to catch up, and now he stood in front of her, barring her escape.

"What?" she choked out, her voice husky.

He sighed. "I said that I love you, Penny. I'm not ashamed of you. It's just … my family isn't exactly easy, you know?"

She snorted. "And you're not only saying that to get me back?" She wouldn't make it easy on him.

"No!" Percy exclaimed, as if the mere mention of that offended him. Then, he sighed. "I'll introduce you to my family, properly," he smiled lopsidedly. "As my girlfriend, if that's what you want?"

"What?" she breathed, still shocked.

"Will you be my girlfriend, Penelope?"

Her heart missed a beat, and she hardly realised that he drew her closer to him.

"Yes," she whispered and let his lips erase the last doubt she'd had about him.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 8*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Themed (Penelope Clearwater)**

 **Prompt: "You have three seconds, 3,2,1,"**

 **W/C: 752**


	18. Chapter 18

"This is ridiculous," Ron muttered, staring at the pink flyer that he had ripped from the announcement board in the Auror's department.

"I think it's cute," Hermione said, reading the leaflet alongside him. "I mean, it was allowed in Hogwarts. Why wouldn't it be here?"

"But imagine all the noise, and the smell, and droppings lying around. There'll be feathers everywhere. Do you remember that one case we had in the owl breeding farm – it'll be so much worse!" Ron argued, turning to Harry for help. Harry only grinned at the pink flyer as if Christmas had come early.

"I can't wait to tell Luna," he said, his grin broadening.

Hermione let out a short bark of laugh. "That'd be hilarious. What if she decides to bring her Demiguise? Or someone takes their Niffler?" She chuckled again.

Ron looked at her incredulously. "I can't believe you think that's funny. What if someone owns a Blast-Ended Skrewt?"

"Then we're screwed," Harry deadpanned. He and Hermione exchanged a glance and burst out laughing.

Ron stared at his two friends as if they'd suddenly grown two heads. "What got into you two? Don't you see that this is the worst idea the Employee Welfare Council has ever had?" He shook his head indignantly. " _Pets_ at the workplace!"

"The D-Department for the Reg-Regulation and Control of Ma-Ma-Magical Creatures will finally do some-something useful," Hermione stuttered, laughing so hard she was barely able to form a sentence.

Ron threw her a dark look. "I'll go down to the EWC and tell them to put restrictions on the pets. It'll be a madhouse next Friday."

"Probably," Harry said cheerily, nudging Ron with his elbow. "You need to tell me and Hermione all about it later."

Ron froze. "Wait – what?" he asked, his gaze darting between his friends.

Harry looked at him smugly. "I'll be in Scotland for that Werewolf-case from tomorrow onwards. I don't think I'll be back in the Ministry before Monday." He winked at Ron, then turned around and nearly skipped to his office.

Ron stared at Hermione. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she said. "I've submitted for my day-off weeks ago. You know I've wanted to go to that seminar about House Elves Rights on the continent. I _have_ told you about it."

Ron opened his mouth and closed it again. Next Friday was going to be a nightmare.

* * *

Friday approached much too soon for Ron's taste. He had tried to prepare his office with every Pest Control and Creature Repelling Charm he knew. Since everyone was required to bring a pet, unless they didn't own one, he dragged Pigwidgeon along in his cage. At work, he only used Ministry owls to deliver post.

"At least, Neville doesn't work at the Ministry or I'd be chasing his toad for the whole bloody day," he murmured darkly to himself, stepping into the fireplace and Flooing over to the Ministry. At that moment, he didn't know that it was going to be much, much worse.

The first thing he noticed was the noise: the flutter of wings, the barking, buzzing, chirping, cooing, coughing, crying, gnarling, grunting, hissing, hooting, howling, meowing, mooing, neighing, scratching, singing, snorting, squawking, squeaking, trilling, yelping – even trumpeting.

Ron swallowed thickly and took a cautious step out of the fireplace. The sight that greeted him was even more horrifying than he had anticipated. There was a whirl of movement in the Atrium. Something splashed inside the water of the fountain. Various birds soared through the air like arrows. A Kneazle seemed to be hunting a group of Pygmy Puffs around a pillar while bats and pixies seemed involved in fierce air fight. Dogs bustled about, running between the legs of the human visitors of the Atrium, and a Diricawl stalked by as if it owned the place.

"Morning, Weasley," a voice said from Ron's shoulder, and he spun towards it. Suddenly, he stood nose to nose with a large, dapple-grey winged horse, which shook its wavy white mane and snorted calmly. Agape, Ron stared at his boss, the head of the Auror department.

"I thought if everyone brings their pet, I can ride my Pegasus to work." She smirked, tipped her hat in greeting, and clicked her tongue. "Let's go, Snowflame."

Ron stared after her. "Blimey," he whispered, still dumbfounded.

It took Ron half an hour to reach his office. The perches, normally reserved for Ministry birds, were full of owls of all breeds and sizes. Pigwidgeon began to chirp shrilly in his cage.

A little warily, Ron entered his office, but it seemed untouched. "Shh, Pig," he snapped, a little irritated, because Pigwidgeon grew more excited with every passing minute. He put the cage down on the floor and threw a few treats through the bars. Through the glass wall of his office, he could watch the hustle and bustle outside.

Only fifteen minutes later, three people had excused themselves, all with blotchy, red faces, tearing eyes, and loud sneezes, on account of cat allergies. Just when Ron had finally managed to begin his paperwork, a loud _BOOM_ echoed throughout the building. The floor shook as if an earthquake had struck. One of the pictures on Ron's wall crashed to the floor, and glass splinters flew through the air. His papers tumbled to the ground and a bottle of ink was knocked over, spilling its contents all over the newly written document and Ron's robes.

"What the –?" he begun, but was interrupted by his door banging open.

"Help!" A middle-aged man with emerald robes burst into his office, gasping for breath. "A – A cauldron exploded down in the Potions lab." Without waiting for an answer, he rushed to the next office. Ron leapt to his feet, wand at ready, and sprinted to the Department of Toxic Substances.

The smell of rotten eggs hit him the moment he stumbled through the doorway, and he gagged. "What happened?" he asked the first person he encountered.

A blond boy, who looked barely out of school, was shaking violently, his robes covered in something grey and slimy. He pointed towards one of the doors. "One of those bloody Kneazles must have knocked over …" He trailed off for a moment before continuing. "The cauldron exploded. Half the lab is already on their way to St. Mungo's, and … the experiment is _ruined_. Look at my robes!" he demanded through clenched teeth, gesturing wildly. "Pets a work – I'm going to massacre the person who has suggested this!" With that, he pushed past Ron towards the exit.

* * *

 **BRING YOUR PET TO WORK**

 **Disaster strikes at the Ministry as they attempt Muggle customs yet again**

 _Yesterday "one of [the Employee Welfare Council's] best ideas so far" was implemented at the Ministry of Magic, according to Maggie Magpie, a Senior member of said council. This "brilliant idea" consisted of allowing employees to bring their pets to work._

 _"_ _It is allowed in Hogwarts, so why shouldn't it be at the Ministry?" was the Minister of Magic's, Kingsley Shacklebolt, feeble excuse for the disaster that followed._

 _A rogue Kneazle caused an explosion in Lab Three in the Department of Toxic Substances. This explosion triggered a chain reaction that destroyed eight out of ten potion labs on the floor. Forty-five ministry employees were rushed to St. Mungo's for treatment._

 _Due to the explosion, many animals fled, stampeding workers and destroying Ministry property. Conclusively, more people spent their day fleeing through the building and searching for their pet, than actually working._

 _This day claimed more injuries than the last Quidditch World Cup: twenty-eight people had to be treated for allergic reactions, twelve were bitten, fifty-three suffered from other minor injuries – including broken bones, stings, and temporary loss of limbs – while six were trampled down by panic-stricken pets, and another dozen was treated for spell damages._

 _How could the Minister of Magic have ever allowed such a gross negligence? The Ministry employee Herbert Halstone announced he will sue the Ministry and every member of the EWC for compensation. It looks like this will cost the Ministry more than a Puddlemere United player earns in six years. The repair costs in itself could be enough to bankrupt our newly elected government._

 _The members of the EWC, which will likely remain the most hated institution for the next ten or so years, should take the appropriate measures and resign after this fateful incident. Our Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, should seriously consider if he is fit for the post of the leader of the Lord Voldemort-free world if he cannot even lead his own ministry._

* * *

Shaking his head, Ron laid the Daily Prophet upon the dining table and sighed as he leant back in his seat. He might not agree with all of what the article claimed, but... That it was a disaster of disproportionate levels? Most definitely. At least he could be comforted with the understanding that it was never happening again.

* * *

 _Written for the Houses Competition, Round 9*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Prompt: Ministry of Magic**

 **W/C: 1, 493**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: This is a "missing" scene from the Order of the Phoenix-book. It describes what _could have_ happened at Grimmauld Place the night of Ron's prefect party.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The Woes of Mrs. Weasley

* * *

"Well, I think I'll sort out that Boggart before I'll turn in," said Molly Weasley, yawning widely. "Arthur, I don't want this lot up too late, all right?"

Her husband nodded distractedly, still caught up in a conversation with Remus and Kingsley. _Probably Order business_ , Molly thought, pondering upon whether she should intervene; this was a night for celebration, after all. After Bill, Charlie, and Percy, now Ron had been made a Prefect, too.

It had been a bit of a surprise, Molly had to admit, since everyone had expected Harry to receive the gold and red Prefect's badge in fifth year. That didn't mean that she wasn't incredibly proud of her son, who had finally been awarded the recognition he deserved. Molly hoped it would help him to overcome the feelings of inferiority that troubled him ever so often.

Letting her gaze sweep over the other party guests, she decided to let it rest. Everyone was still either chattering happily or devouring the buffet.

Molly met Harry's gaze and nodded. "Good night, Harry," she said, then turned and left the room.

Silently, Molly tiptoed up the dimly lit stairs past the stuffed heads of deceased house elves and drew her wand as she approached the first landing. Alastor had told her that it was a Boggart hiding in the desk in the drawing room. She eased the door open as quietly as possible and stepped within, eyes fixed on the old, wooden desk in the corner. It was quivering, vibrating, as the creature tried to escape its prison through force. It struggled – but the magic that bound it held.

Molly advanced further into the room, and the rattling abruptly stopped as the dark creature sensed her presence. Silence fell over the room. She shivered. clenching her wand tighter. Molly could still hear the muffled noises of the party ensuing downstairs, tunes of music interspersed with loud laughing. It had been like this in the First War. Molly hadn't been a member herself, but she remembered them. She remembered all of them with the recollection of youthful, admiring eyes watching from the sidelines. Everyone had smiled and laughed; Sirius had been cracking jokes with James just like Fred and George were doing now. None of them had known that they were doomed. Alice and Frank, Lily and James, and – Molly swallowed thickly at the thought of them – her brothers, Gideon and Fabian.

 _You never know how much time you have left_ , she thought, suddenly enveloped in a feeling of fatalism. They could all be dead tomorrow.

A noise from the desk reminded her of why she was here. The Boggart. Concentrating on the task at hand, she lifted her wand and opened the lock with a flick of her wrist.

The drawer flung across the room and crashed against the opposite side of the wall. Momentarily distracted, Molly averted her gaze from the desk to the broken drawer as it tumbled to the floor in pieces. When she swung her attention back to the desk, expecting the Boggart to have taken on its most horrible form, no Voldemort-shaped shadow loomed over her, no terrifying creatures or mass, shapeless, threatening spell bore down upon her. Instead, sprawled upon the dusty, worn-out carpet in a patch of moonlight was Ginny. Her red hair was spread like a fan around her head, her eyes wide open and empty. _Dead_.

She was dead.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 9*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Boggart**

 **W/C: 569**


	20. Chapter 20

With bated breath, Hermione stepped through the wooden doors of the Hogwarts library. Curses must have hit them, burning the once polished wood and marking bruises on them. They hung crookedly and broken. The evening sun slanted through shattered windows, painting golden rays into the dust-filled air.

Shards crunched under Hermione's soles as she ventured deeper into the destroyed library. She took in a gulping breath when she saw the whole extent of the damage. A part of the ceiling had caved in and debris covered the floor. Debris and…

"Oh no. The books," Hermione whispered.

The bookshelves had been toppled over, and torn-up and burnt parchment littered the floor. Hermione knelt down and carefully pulled out a copy of _Hogwarts a History_ from under splinters of wood, fragments of glass, and rocks as big as footballs.

The poor book must have been hit by a curse since a large hole, framed by burned edges, gaped in its front. Its spine was broken.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione wiped the dust and dirt away from the cover. Her shaking fingers wandered from the hole in the middle to the letters above, tracing the title gently. It had been her favourite book. And it had been mutilated, annihilated, slaughtered… _murdered_. It had been murdered. Death Eaters had marched in here and had left nothing but ruins and death in their wake.

"Hermione?" Ron's hesitant voice echoed through the silent room. She heard the creaking of the doors as he entered the library and then his footsteps coming closer.

"Don't step on the books!" she said quickly, half-turning around as if to prevent such an event. "Maybe we can save them."

Ron paused and let his gaze wander through the demolished library; then he looked back at Hermione, who still clenched _Hogwarts a History_ to her chest. "Are you okay?" he asked gingerly.

"We need to – we need to clear up a little, move away the debris, repair the shelves, and … oh, the books, Ron." She hugged the book in her arms tighter, her shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly.

"It's not your job to do that. Not now. They're just books, Hermione," Ron said, stepping over a large rock and reaching for his girlfriend.

"Don't say that," she snapped, flinching away from him. "Books have feelings too, you know." Abruptly, she pulled out her wand and directed it at the window. " _Reparo_."

Instantly, the shards that had been lying on the floor rose into the air and floated towards the windows, where they lingered at their former place until they met the neighbouring shard; then the glass seemed to melt, the breaks smoothed over, and the pieces blended together as if they had never been apart. In the blink of an eye, the window was whole again.

Ron made half a step towards her, hands raised as if to calm a rogue horse. "Hermione…"

"Don't just stand there. Help me with the shelves," Hermione replied brusquely, turning her back to Ron. When he didn't react, she glanced back at him over her shoulder.

Ron just looked at her for a long moment; then something in his gaze melted. "Okay." He lifted his wand as well and aimed it at the next window. A swish of his wand later, it was as good as new. Instantly, she felt a little warmer, as if the coldness of the room had been banished by his action.

Silently, they worked side by side for a few minutes, and with every book she found and every shelf she repaired, she felt a little better.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively, bending down again to extract another book from the chaos.

"Still sleeping," Ron replied monosyllabically.

Hermione nodded sharply. With jerky movements, she lifted a rock out of the way with her wand and moved towards an upset shelf. Although most of the windows were repaired, the room still felt wrong. Not like a place that had been her home for almost seven years, not like the Hogwarts library. The light didn't hit the floor in the right angle. There was a hollowness to the place that she could almost hear. Even the smell was off. _Wait_ – the smell! Hermione froze.

"Do you smell that?" she asked, eyes darting around to identify its source.

The acrid stench of something burning had been carried over to her. Her feet almost automatically moved deeper into the room, towards the smell that had alarmed her. It became more intense with every step she made until it was a thick, cloying tang that pervaded her nostrils and filtered down to lather her tongue.

Hermione bit back a cough and pressed her cloak over her nose and mouth. Now, she could see the smoke, weaving its way over the floor like fog and gathering in grey clouds over a pile of smouldering parchment and leather.

Suddenly, Hermione felt her stomach turn and she retched.

Books. They had burned books. Her choking turned into sobs when she saw the mangled bodies, the burnt spines piled into a large heap. She fell to her knees, hands outstretched in an attempt to save something from the devouring force of fire.

"Hermione, no!" Without warning, Ron's arms wrapped around her, pulling her back from the glowing embers. "Don't," he whispered.

For a few seconds, Hermione tried to struggle free, but then all her strength vanished. Her body turned limb and she just began to shake in Ron's arms, racking sobs breaking free from her lips.

She knew who burned books would also burn human beings. And they had. They had killed children, children who were innocent, children who had just wanted to live.

"Dead," she choked out. "They're all dead."

"Shh," Ron said calmingly, stroking her hair.

"D-dead. Murdered. Killed. Gone," Hermione whispered, doubling over as the pain of grief hit her. They were dead. Her friends were dead. Remus and Tonks. Fred. Colin. Lavender. Professor Burbage. Gone.

"I know," Ron breathed, understanding that she was no longer talking about books.

And together they sat in the destroyed library and mourned their friends and family.

* * *

 _ ***** Written for the Houses Competition, Round 10*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: "Books have feelings too, you know,"**

 **W/C: 1, 015**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: This is my first songfic. I know the line "I can't get no rest" is grammatically uncorrect, but since Mika sings it that way, I decided to include it :)**

 **I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

 _No Happy Ending_

* * *

I glance at my watch. Two o'clock in the morning. Sighing, I turn over and attempt to finally fall asleep, but something's on my mind; images appear behind my closed eyes, preventing me from sleeping. Vivid brown curls, a gentle smile, flashing hazel eyes. I sit up, pushing my red bangs out of my face, knowing I won't be able to fall asleep, at least not anymore. Our last conversation plays over and over in my head. The words she screamed still sting, her accusations hit me like a punch in the gut, and I gasp. I can't stay in bed any longer. Feeling lost, I walk over to the kitchen and put the kettle on, but even hot tea can't calm me. I can't get no rest, so I keep walking around, looking at pictures in my apartment. Pictures of us, fragments of our former life, a life before she left. Our wedding – Hermione, dressed in white, and I, surrounded by my older brothers, smile warmly into the camera, drunk with happiness. For a second, I pretend that nothing ever went wrong, that she's still in our bedroom, peacefully sleeping, and that I can crawl back into bed with her. I can think that we just carried on, and that tomorrow will be a good day.

But it's not. The realisation of that nearly causes me to fall to pieces.

I feel as if I'm wasted, my head pounding. And I wasted everyday that we'd been together with work, or stupid fights, instead of relishing in her presence; her hot, fiery kisses, her loving smiles. This was the way that we loved, like it was forever.

But now happy endings are gone forever more. No hope, or love, or glory.

I draw in a deep breath, struggling to figure out how to say goodbye to someone I can't live without, trying to find solace in the thought that we'll live the rest of our lives, just not together.

* * *

 _ *****_ _Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 5*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Mika- Happy Ending**

 **W/C: 329**


	22. Chapter 22

"Left! I said left!" Ron said exasperatedly, glaring at the driver who had just missed the last crossroad.

"Well, maybe inform me about that a little earlier and not _three seconds_ before we reach the bloody crossroad," Hermione snapped at her husband, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel. Her knuckles stood out in white, and she was biting down on her lips so hard that Ron feared she might draw blood.

The sun was gleaming pitilessly through the windshield, and the Granger's old car didn't have air conditioning, but they were both too angry, too distracted, to even bother casting a cooling charm. The traffic was very slowly creeping forwards through the complicated street system and narrow roads of London's city centre.

"Rubbish. You'd've had heaps of time to switch lanes," Ron retorted. "Now, it'll take us ages to get to the train station to pick up Rose."

"We wouldn't be in such a hurry if _you_ hadn't decided you need to go 'real quick'," Hermione signalled quotation marks with her fingers, "to the grocery store this morning and then come back an hour later."

"Are you insane? Put your hands on the wheel, for Merlin's sake!" Ron bellowed, panic seeping into his voice as the car slowly edged forward, but Hermione's hands were still in the air.

"Oh, relax. I _know_ how to drive," Hermione hissed, throwing him a sidelong glance. Ron knew what that look meant. He vehemently refused taking driving lessons. Why would he need that if he could just Apparate or use the Floo network? But Hermione insisted on using the car. As if she needed the adrenaline of almost dying in a car crash every now and again.

Suddenly, Ron was flung forwards, the seat belt cutting uncomfortable into his chest and shoulders, and he had to brace himself on the glove compartment. "What the hell?" he cursed, his eyes searching the road for the reason Hermione had to put on the brakes. A black cab seemed to have tried to squeeze into the narrow space between their car and the lorry in front of them.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered, engaging the first gear with shaking fingers.

"And I thought you said you knew how to drive," Ron muttered sarcastically, wiping the sweat of his forehead.

"I do!" Hermione snapped. "What would you have done? Crashed into the cab? I _had_ to brake!"

Ron had to grudgingly admit that she was right, but he'd be damned before he said that out loud. So he only snorted and fixed his eyes back on the road.

Hermione had been tense the whole morning, probably because Rose was returning from her first year at Hogwarts and she was anxious to see her again. Ron understood that. He, too, was looking forward to seeing his daughter. Luckily, they both insisted that Hugo stayed with his mother, Molly, or he'd be hearing his parents fight.

A few minutes later, they turned into Euston Road/A501 that would lead them straight to King's Cross. Ron could already spot the beautiful redbrick building of the St. Pancras Renaissance Hotel.

"Ha! There's a free space!" he called out when they entered the parking lot of the train station.

"It's too small," Hermione said offhandedly, not even looking at the space Ron had pointed at.

"Rubbish. We fit in nicely," Ron replied, trying desperately to stay calm and not yell at his wife again. "Just one little spell…"

"It's too small," Hermione repeated curtly, circling past the indicated space.

"And I'm telling you we'd fit in!" Ron said heatedly, all thoughts of calmness forgotten.

He was hurled forward again as Hermione slammed in the brakes. She seemed to be shaking with anger, glaring at him as if he had committed a capital offence in contradicting her. "Am I driving or are you?" she hissed between clenched teeth.

Ron rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Suit yourself." With grim satisfaction, he watched Hermione circle the bloody parking lot for the last time before she gave up and squeezed into the space he suggested before. He didn't understand her resistance to using magic while driving. But he decided that it was not the time for that argument _again_ , so he silently exited the car and stomped towards the train station to greet his daughter.

* * *

 _\- A few weeks later -_

Ron scrutinised the car that the driving instructor led him to, agitation painting a frown on his brow.

"Are you okay?" the older man asked.

Ron nodded sharply and climbed into the driver's seat. The driving instructor, Mr. Smith, took a seat on his left side, explaining how to adjust the seat and exterior mirrors, but Ron only listened with half an ear. He already knew that. In his mind, he was already driving Hermione to King's Cross, showing off his newly acquired skill.

"So, have you ever driven a car before?" Mr. Smith's voice snapped Ron out of his thoughts back to the present.

A husky laugh escaped Ron's lips as he remembered the last time he'd driven a car, which had been his father's blue Ford Anglia 105E Deluxe. He'd managed quite well, Ron mused; apart from the fact that they had crashed right into the Whomping Willow, obviously. But that had totally been the car's fault.

"I know enough that I won't die. So, teach me how to do this," he replied roughly, determinedly fastening his seat belt.

"Fair enough," the other man replied jovially, grinning widely at Ron as if he was looking forward to their lesson.

Ron grabbed the steering wheel. He was going to rock this driving lesson, pass the exam with flying colours, and show Hermione that he was just as capable of driving a car as she was, if not better.

* * *

 _ *****_ _Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 6*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt:** "I know enough that I won't die. So, teach me how to do this."

 **W/C: 966**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: This is supposed to take place in Harry's fourth year. I took the liberty to use the "real" Moody and not Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise. (So, it's AU!)**

 **Thank you to my two betas:** hollyhobbit101 **and** ElectricClover **!**

* * *

On the morning of his 40th birthday, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody woke earlier than usual. He hated birthdays. Dim, grey light slanted through the windows, barely illuminating his sparsely furnished chamber. But he felt instantly that something was different inside his room. His pine wand was aimed at the "intruder" before he even consciously decided to do so. War reflexes die hard.

On the small table in front of his fireplace, several colourfully wrapped presents were piled up. Moody narrowed his good eye, suspicion creeping onto his features. Birthday presents were the perfect honey trap, and many inexperienced Aurors might fall into it easily, but not Moody.

Keeping his wand aimed at the boxes, he grabbed his magical eye. Now, he was able to look through the wrapping paper. A bottle of Firewhiskey, pralines, a box with wand cleaning products, a book about defence magic, and … a plant.

Moody furrowed his brow. To some it might look like a harmless Flitterbloom, the long tentacles swaying peacefully, but Moody's Auror instincts kicked in. Someone had sent him a Devil's Snare!

He didn't even hesitate a second, and a well placed _Incendio_ let the plant go up in flames.

* * *

Later, Moody descended for breakfast in the Great Hall, a smug smile on his lips. His other birthday gifts had turned out to be harmless. The Firewhiskey was from Dumbledore, the book from Tonks, the wand cleaning products from Kingsley, and the pralines from Fred and George Weasley. Knowing the Weasley twins, he was certainly going to look into them later, but they didn't seem to pose an immediate threat.

Almost cheerful, he sat down at the professor's table next to Minerva, who instantly wished him a happy birthday. Moody grunted something that might have been _thanks_ , and took a swig of dark, strong coffee from his hip flask.

Suddenly, Pomona leaned over and said, "Happy birthday, Alastor. Did you get my Flitterbloom? I thought it might brighten up your room a little."

"Um," Moody replied eloquently, thinking back to the pretty plant that was now nothing but ashes. "Course, I did. Thank you," he added roughly, suddenly very interested in the bacon and eggs on his plate.

He really hated birthdays.

* * *

 _ *****_ _Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 6*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Prof. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody**

 **W/C: 370**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Thank you to Alixx for the beta!**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

The grass was still wet with morning dew and the lake was smooth and peaceful; the sun barely peaked over the mountains, and only a few golden rays of sunlight illuminated the castle of Hogwarts. Hermione and Ginny were the only ones outside. It was quiet save for their muffled footsteps. Finally, they reached their usual spot under a tree by the lake, and sat down. It had become their spot to talk privately after the war.

Hermione watched the younger girl from the corner of her eyes. The sunshine slanting through the branches of the tree washed her auburn hair in highlights of copper and champagne. She seemed deep in thought, worrying her lower lip. "What's wrong, Ginny?" she finally asked.

The other Gryffindor shrugged, her eyes fixed on the lake. "I can't stop thinking about Harry."

A laugh escaped Hermione's lips, but when she met Ginny's gaze, she silenced herself. "And that's bad?" Hermione knew that Harry and she weren't exactly back together.

Ginny bit her lip, leaning against the tree and wrapping her arms around her knees. "No … yes … I don't know."

"He loves you, you know," Hermione whispered in an attempt to soothe the other girl.

"That's not it." Ginny shook her head, breathing in the air from the lake and exhaling slowly. "It's not him. I just need to figure out if ... if I love _him_ or Harry Potter."

Hermione frowned, about to ask for clarification, when she continued. "I had a crush on him for ages, on the hero, on the idea of him. Then I met the real person – and it was wonderful. But he _died_." Ginny swallowed audibly. "I saw him die, and I knew it was over." Her fingers tightened around her legs, and she closed her eyes for a second, tormented by a kind of agony that neither flame nor curse could cause. "I wonder why it was so easy for me to accept that. Was it because it wasn't meant to be?"

She looked questioningly at Hermione, who opened her mouth to reply, but Ginny continued, "Was it because I never really saw a future in our relationship? What if it'll always be like this – him pushing me away if things get difficult?"

The questions hung between them for a few moments. Wind rustled through the fallen leaves around them, which the autumn had painted in shades of claret and maroon, and drove ripples into the water of the lake.

The birds chirping in the tree above almost drowned out Ginny's next words. "Am I strong enough to go through that again?"

"I don't know," Hermione replied softly. "There's only one way to find out."

* * *

 _ *****_ _Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 7*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt:** [Setting] A spot under a tree by a lake.

 **W/C: 449**


	25. Chapter 25

"I am not a traitor," Marietta whispered as she looked at herself in the mirror. "Not a sneak."

She hated the words that were etched into her previously beautiful face. They would never fade, and the puckered scars marred her skin irreparably. No amount of make-up would be able to cover them up. She would never be beautiful again.

She'd always be branded a traitor wherever she'd go.

Yes, she had made a mistake – but lots of people had, and they didn't have to carry the marks of their failure on their skin. It was cruel. And she hated Hermione Granger for it; hated her for not forgiving her for something that she had been forced to do.

If she hadn't given Umbridge something, her mother would have had to suffer the consequences. If anyone had bothered to look at it that way, she had done it to protect people, to _save_ people.

Just like Granger with her holier-than-thou attitude, her Gryffindor pride, pretending to be _so_ fucking noble.

Marietta snorted loudly and left the bathroom to make her way to Herbology. The first crocuses were bursting through the soil and the grass was decorated with the purple of violets and wild grape hyacinths. The air was mild with the first spring sun and birds were loudly chirping from every bush and tree. It was beautiful.

But Marietta paid little mind to it. She was still absorbed in her dark thoughts.

 _Yes_ , she nodded to herself. _I'm a fucking hero. Just like Granger or Potter._

And where were they now? They had left her, the D.A. and all of their friends in the clutches of Death Eaters. And _she_ was the one who had to go through the misery that defined her life now. _She_ was the one who had tried to protect first years. _She_ was the one who had to endure Cruciatus after Cruciatus for any information about the rebellion – and kept her mouth shut.

She was not a traitor. Not anymore.

But how did the others thank her? She knew they were holed up in the Room of Requirement, but did they let her in? No. Fucking self-righteous bastards. Always the heroes.

Easter was approaching; things were getting worse, and fast.

If Potter didn't hurry up killing that white-faced monster, she would have to do it herself. She had been on the verge of hexing the Carrows yesterday. She just couldn't stand there and watch as others did.

It shouldn't say _sneak_ on her face. It should say _hero_.

* * *

 _ *****_ _Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Bonus Round 2*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Theme: Spring**

 **Prompt: Marietta Edgecombe**

 **W/C: 422**


	26. Chapter 26

I watch silently as Ron puts his signature on the divorce papers, feeling suddenly a little lost. I am no longer Hermione Granger-Weasley.

When he looks up and meets my gaze, he seems a little lost, too. "It's done," he whispers, and I nod, unable to form words that would soothe the pain both of us feel.

"The press will be in a frenzy," he says finally, standing. The distance between us seems like an abyss – deep and devouring, impossible to cross.

I smile a little sadly. "Yes, probably. Do you –"

Ron tilts his head, as if asking what I'd wanted to say. And somehow the words bubble out of my mouth and pour into the silence between us.

"Do you remember their reaction when we announced that we'd married in secret?"

A laugh escapes his lips, and it sounds genuine. "Yeah. Skeeter almost hyperventilated." Still smiling, he mimics her high, panicked voice, " _What do you mean you 'got married'? When? How? Why?_ "

I snort. Yes, that were her words exactly. We were so happy back then. I remember everything about the moment when we exchanged our vows; my dress – not white, but blue like his eyes; Harry's proud smile when he handed us the rings; Ron, promising to love and honour me, and I, offering my heart and soul, body and mind to him.

All that is etched into my mind forever.

I know exactly how elated I felt when he put the ring on my finger, a feeling as if the world had crumbled and reformed in a blink of the eye and it was no longer gravity holding me there but him. I remember the love I felt for him, a love I thought would last until we both died.

I never imagined I'd lose that feeling, but I had lost it. _We_ had lost it.

"Yes," I breathe, and the sadness catches me again. "What happened, Ron? What happened to us?"

And I can watch the cheerfulness leaving him, like a light being snuffed out. "I don't know," Ron replies dejectedly.

We stare at each other for a moment; the distance like an impenetrable wall between us is back. Then, he seems to brace himself, his posture tensing, and with a last nod in my direction, he leaves.

The door falling shut behind him is final. There is no longer an _us_ ; memories are all we have left.

* * *

 _ *****_ _Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 8*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt:** "What do you mean you 'got married'? When? How? Why?"

 **W/C: 403**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: This is very AU, once because Lucius should be in Azkaban and also for the ending. I hope you still like it.**

* * *

Draco's eyes flickered for a millisecond to his father before he focused back on the madman in front of him. It was dangerous to be distracted when in the presence of Voldemort, Draco knew that. But he was scared out of his mind.

Voldemort had been so angry when Lucius had failed to deliver the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries to him. Draco had been glad to be still in school back then. But he hadn't escaped Voldemort's wrath like he'd hoped. Quite the opposite actually. He provided his father's punishment.

And Lucius just stood there, silent and obedient, while the Dark Lord took out his wand and grabbed Draco's left arm.

Draco knew he should be proud to be admitted into the ranks of the Death Eaters, but the Mark wasn't given as a reward for his service, but to force him to do the unspeakable. Draco was no murderer. Draco knew it. His father knew it.

And Voldemort knew it, too.

But he'd ordered him to assassinate Dumbledore anyway. Of course, he was expected to fail. And when – not _if_ – he _had_ failed, Voldemort would kill him without hesitation; in his eyes, a suitable punishment for Lucius' failures – to watch his son suffer and die.

It was nothing more than a death sentence.

His hand shook as Voldemort's long fingernails bit into his wrist, but he didn't make a sound. He knew he was done for if he did. Then the wand touched his skin lightly, almost like a caress, and instantly, agonising pain flashed through his arm, pain so deep and dark that Draco almost lost it and screamed. Automatically, his eyes searched his father's, and their gazes locked for a second.

But then, Lucius looked away, abandoning him to the terrible agony of receiving the Dark Mark, surrendering him to the Dark Lord without any resistance.

Draco silently pleaded for him to stop it, to save him, to not let him be killed, but Lucius didn't even look at him, his face the unyielding mask Draco had been treated to all his life. Deep down, he knew his father loved him. But not enough to save him. He'd never been good enough for Lucius' standards.

His mother had been the only one trying to help Draco. When everyone had expected him to fail at his first Quidditch game, she'd written him a letter. _Prove them wrong_ , she'd said.

And he had.

When his father had threatened to take away his broom if he didn't pass all his exams with at least _Exceeding Expectations_ , she'd said she believed in him. _Prove your father wrong_ , she'd said.

And he had.

And now, as he stood there in unbearable pain that coursed through in his arm, Voldemort expected him to break. But he wouldn't. _He would prove that monster wrong._

And he did.

Finally, Voldemort took his wand away and the pain subsided. Inside, Draco was shaking so hard that he thought he might pass out. But he stood tall and strong as if nothing had happened.

"You know what I expect of you, Draco," Voldemort's high-pitched whisper reached his ears.

"I do, my Lord," Draco replied with a bow. "I will not fail you."

An evil, deadly smile played across Voldemort's snake-like face. "I hope so."

* * *

 _July 1997, the Astronomy Tower_

"Avada Kedavra."

As soon as the curse had left Draco's lips, he felt something inside him shatter, but he didn't care. Everyone had thought he'd die in his attempt to kill Dumbledore, but he proved them wrong. Now he stood on top of the Astronomy tower and watched as the Headmaster was struck by a jet of green light, blasting him backwards over the battlements. For a split second, he seemed to hang suspended beneath the shining skull in the sky, but then he fell slowly, like an old rag doll, and then out of sight.

He had succeeded! He'd proven everyone wrong who thought he'd fail and die. Oh yes, he'd proven those bastards _wrong_.

But somehow, he didn't feel victorious at all. He'd lost a part of himself that night. Draco knew this moment would haunt him for the rest of his life.

* * *

 _ *****_ _Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 8*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Prove them wrong.**

 **W/C: 700**


	28. Chapter 28

"What could go wrong?" he asked, and Hermione knew they were all in trouble now. There were a lot of things that could go wrong. Harry understood that, but he was trying to stay optimistic, she guessed.

"This is a suicide mission," Ron mumbled, agreeing with her silent assessment. Yet, they had no other choice. The key to Voldemort's destruction was in the Lestrange's vault. _The Horcrux._ So, there was really nothing to be discussed about breaking into Gringotts.

Hermione let her gaze drift, one last time, over Shell Cottage, admiring the sunrise. A cascading trail of colours striped the sky: deep blue, then lighter, turning purple, mauve, into a bright tangerine glimmering where the ocean met the horizon. She took one last gulp of the fresh early morning air, then downed the Polyjuice Potion, transforming into her own personal nightmare, Bellatrix Lestrange.

She felt the change happen; her hair darkened and her body stretched a few inches. It was quite ironic, Hermione supposed, that Voldemort's most loyal servant had given them the means to obtain a part of his soul and so paved the way to his demise.

Gritting her teeth, she secured the walnut wand in the holster – it felt tainted and _wrong_ – and readjusted the hideous, black dress. It was something of a catch-22 that she had to become her torturer in order to defeat her, Hermione thought.

She couldn't help the stabbing pain in her chest when she heard her voice sounding exactly like Bellatrix's low timbre, and seeing Ron flinch slightly as she addressed him. Soon he was transfigured into Dragomir Despard, envoy from Transylvania.

"Come on, let's rob a bank!" Harry exclaimed and offered her his arm. Griphook clung tightly to his back, and the look he threw Hermione made her shudder. Ron, barely recognisable beneath the glamour, took Hermione's other arm.

Things might go wrong, but they were as ready as they could be, ready for the trouble and danger ahead.

Together, they disapparated.

* * *

 _*Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 9*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt:** "What could go wrong?" He/She/They asked, and (character)/I knew they/we were all in trouble now

 **W/C: 331**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Little is known about Lucius' and Narcissa's relationship and marriage. This is my take on how it could be a happy marriage, but that might be considered AU by some, since the general consensus seems to be *evil Lucius* who torments his son and wife. But I think he does care for his family, he has just been misguided and blind in his beliefs and his support of Voldemort. I think he** **would _at least_ try to protect his wife, if not his son.**

 **This is my view on how a moment between them could look, right before the Battle of Hogwarts.**

 **Thank you to my betas: 2D and Alixx!**

* * *

"Please, don't do it, Cissa," Lucius begged one last time, his grey eyes pleading with her. He reached for her wrist, but Narcissa quickly sidestepped him.

"No." Her tone was cold. She would _not_ give in to her husband this time. She loved him, but that didn't mean she had lost her willpower or resolve. "I will, under no circumstances, stay at home. Do you understand me?"

"Narcissa, darling," Lucius whispered. He was leaning heavily on his cane, as he had done ever since Azkaban, but tonight he looked even more broken, more fragile, than usual. It was all the more reason for Narcissa to accompany him. "It is _dangerous_."

"I know, but I can't lose you, and I can't lose my son. I _have_ to protect him, I'll fight." She glanced down at the borrowed wand in her hand and then back at her husband. "Besides, I was always better in _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ than you."

Lucius didn't seem convinced by her argument. "Narcissa, we'll be alright. There's absolutely no reason for you to come with us to Hogwarts. You're not a …" He faltered. "You're under no obligation to –"

Narcissa snorted. "Don't pretend that I have a choice in all this. There's nothing I wouldn't do anymore."

"Darling, please. If something happened to you …" Lucius searched her gaze; his grey eyes seeming to pierce her. "I couldn't live with myself," he admitted.

Quickly, she looked away. Oh, but he could, he lived with it every day. Or had he forgotten what had happened to her, to Draco, when the Golden Trio had escaped Malfoy Manor? She shuddered at the memories. "Look at us. What we've become …" she replied sadly. Her family, almost destroyed. That's why she had to fight, to save what was left of them.

Family above all else.

"Cissa …" He took her hand, tugging her closer to him. Narcissa's head snapped up towards him, and when Lucius met her determined gaze, her eyes like blue steel, his shoulders slumped. He had no choice but to give in. "Fine."

He nodded. "We'll do our best. Are you prepared for … Everything?"

Her lips pressed into a fine line. "You know I'm not fainthearted. I can do whatever it takes."

"I know, darling," he replied, trying to smile reassuringly and failing.

Narcissa knew he hadn't wanted it to end like this. They should have been the triumphant winners of a short war; people should bow to them, trying to please them; their son should be a dark prince, ruling over the lesser wizards and witches. Yet, somewhere along the way they had taken a wrong turn, endangered their son by blindly following a madman. It had brought them nothing but humiliation and misery.

This was their chance to make it right, to give their son a chance at a better future. That was what parents should do.

Narcissa glanced at the clock in her dressing room. "It's time. We need to leave." She felt no fear when she secured the wand in its holster.

"Wait," her husband pleaded in a husky voice, drawing her close into one last hug. "I've never wanted this for you. I - You should be a queen."

She smiled softly. She remembered that he'd said the exact same words when he had proposed. Their marriage was an arranged one. Her parents had forced her to marry straight after Hogwarts, ignoring Narcissa's own dreams and aspirations. She hadn't known whom her parents had chosen, not until the day Lucius had proposed. Back then – being young and with a head full of foolish ideas about love – she'd sworn to herself to fulfill her parent's expectations, but that she'd let her future husband feel that _he_ wasn't her choice. She would be cold, unapproachable, and, most of all, she would never, _ever_ fall in love with that man.

Lucius had changed that resolution.

She'd remembered him from Hogwarts, of course. She even liked him, admired him most of all. But she hadn't expected such a 'fortunate match' after her sister Andromeda had been disowned.

Lucius' proposal had felt _real_. He'd put effort in it, carefully chosen a location and a ring, and he'd asked her for her hand as if it was really her choice; not just empty words.

But what had really changed her mind, were his eyes. Their grey colour was so close to the thunderous sky, but there was a kindness in them when he looked at her, a kindness that she'd missed in her own father. Lucius had passed on this trait to his son, Draco, who had exactly the same silver eyes.

And finally, months into their marriage, Narcissa had fallen in love with this man, who looked at her as if she was the only woman on the whole planet.

There was still a spark of that man left underneath the ashen stubble of his beard and his sunken and shadowed eyes, even though he didn't seem it.

"I love you, too, Lucius," Narcissa said, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger. Their gazes locked. Grey met blue.

This was why she did it, why she chose to fight - she had to save her grey-eyed men.

Then, with a swift movement, Narcissa freed herself from Lucius and grabbed her cloak. It was time. She'd not let her son be harmed, if it was the last thing she would do.

Finally, in total synchrony with her husband, she turned on the spot and apparated into the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

 _ *****_ _Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 9*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Short**

 **Prompt: Grey Eyes**

 **W/C: 926**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: I like to think that this might've happened, but I guess it's AU. :P The twins too make mistakes, right? They might seem a little OOC here, but in my mind, they are really scared that the Ministry might prosecute them from breaking the Statue of Secrecy.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

 _Weasley's Incredible Ice Bomb_

* * *

 ** _Ottery St. Catchpole_** _ **, Devon** \- A mysterious late-spring storm has buried cars in snow and forced the closing of the local school. Photos posted on social media depicted a barbecue entombed in snow, and drifts reaching halfway up somebody's front door. The snowstorm came out of nowhere and has brought the whole town to a standstill._

 _"You would think you were in January," said one employee of the public library, which opened four hours late while the streets were ploughed. "Everything here was very spring-like, and then, suddenly, we were in the middle of a snowstorm."_

 _Meteorologists are at a loss at how to explain the phenomenon. More than 45 centimetres fell at the town square overnight, while more than 63 centimetres of snow was recorded at the National Park._

 _Jocelyn Wells, a cashier at Waitrose, said customers were coming in to ask for, "mostly snow shovels that we don't have. We're into summer now, right?"_

 _While the snow is expected to taper off by this afternoon, strong northeast winds are forecast to persist throughout the day. Drivers are warned that visibility could be reduced due to the storm._

 _"Today is still going to be very ugly," said Loretta Libby, from the Meteorological Office, adding that the temperature was hovering around -2 C. "It's very cold, and the conditions are winter-like despite the fact it's the 26th of May."_

* * *

Arthur Weasley put the Muggle newspaper down, sighing. "Fred, George! You're in trouble!"

"It was an accident," Fred hastened to say, stumbling over his words. "We didn't think the new product -"

"Would have such an effect," continued George. "Really, Dad." He looked almost pleadingly at his father. "We're sorry."

"It doesn't say anybody was hurt. Or that they suspect magic as cause for the snowstorm," said Fred, wringing his hands. "Don't do it. Don't -"

"Don't report us, please."

George looked almost scared now. Arthur hadn't seen his sons this freightened since they'd been children. But it was a serious matter. 'Weasley's Incredible Ice Bomb' had plunged the whole region into the Ice Age.

"They'll take our licence away," George whispered. "Our shop. Everything we built."

Fred nodded. "You can't do it, Dad."

"Please …" A determined look appeared on George's face. "We can fix this, Dad."

The twins exchanged a meaningful glance. "We made this mess, and we'll fix it, prevent it from ever happening again."

"We're sorry we disappointed you," George added.

For the first time, there was a hard edge in Arthur's voice. "You were careless. This could've revealed our existence to the Muggles! People could've been hurt. What on _earth_ were you thinking?"

Fred and George looked to the floor, contrite.

"I guess you weren't thinking, were you?" Arthur sighed again. "Fine. I'll help you. But this doesn't mean there won't be any consequences." He shook his head. "And boys…"

The twin's heads snapped up, a hopeful look in the eyes.

A smile tugged at the corners of Arthur's lips. "Excellent idea."

* * *

 _*Written for the Houses Competition, Year 2 - Round 10*_

 **House: Ravenclaw**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: Snowstorm**

 **W/C: 497**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Thanks to my betas Rose and Aya! Enjoy this little piece of Charlie-awesomeness. I'm not sure about the tag here - so just to be sure - it's AU. (But headcanon now).**

* * *

 _The Blues_

* * *

"Did you know that Hungarian Horntails can shoot fire at a range of forty feet?" Charlie asked, excited, barely looking up from his journal about dragon care.

Tonks rolled her eyes and continued writing her essay about _The Properties of Moonstone and its Uses in Potion-making_ that Professor Snape had assigned them.

"Isn't that just…" Charlie searched for words, " _fantastic_."

The lack of response from his friend made him look up. Tonks wore her shoulder-length hair in a brilliant shade of coppery blonde on the day in question, almost like his own hair. From afar, she might pass for a Weasley.

"Did you hear what I just said?" Charlie repeated, still engrossed by the information he'd read.

Tonks looked up, sighing. "Don't you have an essay to write?"

Charlie waved her question away. "Ugh, finished that yesterday. Bloody Moonstones. Bloody Potions. Bloody Snape." He threw her a sideways glance. "Do you want me to proofread yours?"

"Nope." Tonks let the _P_ pop audibly, still scribbling something down onto her parchment.

Now it was Charlie's turn to roll his eyes. He knew the essay would appear – as though by magic – on his bedside table tonight. No doubt there would be a note attached asking for him to read it. Accepting this, he returned to his journal and the article about Hungarian Horntails.

Suddenly, Tonks swore loudly, startling him. "Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Charlie's head snapped up towards her, and he realised that she'd spilled ink all over her parchment. Indigo, almost black, liquid dripped from the table and stained the carpet.

"Let me fix that," Charlie offered, waving his wand over the parchment. Instantly, the ink was sucked up and returned back into the bottle.

"My hero," Tonks replied a little breathlessly. "I thought I had ruined it again. I swear, Professor Snape will fail me if I hand in another ink stained parchment."

She had smudges of blue on her right temple where she had touched it with her speckled fingers. Charlie restrained himself from leaning over and touching her, caressing her soft skin, and removing the ink.

"How can I ever thank you for it?" she asked, a mocking smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She was so beautiful it made him feel like he'd trade all his least itchy jumpers to steal one more glance.

Charlie opened his mouth to reply, but she was faster, "Ah. I know. A way to charm Alyssa, the Ravenclaw prefect."

Charlie groaned inwardly. "It was _one date_ , Tonks." A date which had been a failed rouse to make Tonks jealous. She had been his best friend ever since first year; but suddenly, somehow, something had changed between them. Or not between them, but for Charlie.

He wasn't quite sure when it happened. All he knew was that, one day, he was watching her. He noticed the way she bit her lip in concentration. He became fascinated with the way she would become so absorbed in what she was doing that she wouldn't even hear a bomb go off next to her. Then, out of nowhere, Charlie realised he wanted to watch her for the rest of his life. But then he thought, _Isn't that a peculiar thing to think of your best friend?_ And _then_ he thought … _bugger_.

"But you like her, don't you?" Tonks asked eagerly.

"Um…"

"See!" she added, as if Charlie had fervently agreed with her. "I can help you with that."

"I don't need help," Charlie replied, a little more harshly than intended.

"Rubbish. You said yourself you don't know how to ask a girl out."

"Yes, but…" Charlie shifted uncomfortably. That question hadn't pertained to Alyssa but _Tonks_. "She might think I'm weird."

"You _are_ weird, Charles Weasley," Tonks laughed. "Your obsession with dragons is certainly unhealthy."

Charlie pulled a face and hit her arm with his journal. "Thanks very much, _Nymphadora_."

For a second, she looked like she wasn't sure if she should laugh or be offended, but then a grin broke up her expression. "Okay, fine, fine. Something else, then." She scrunched up her nose, thinking. "Didn't you moan for the whole Saturday that you hated your hair?" She gestured at Charlie's head.

"Of course, I bloody hate my hair. It's red!" He violently tugged at the strands that fell into his face as if he could change them with just that. When he caught her expression, he hastened to add, "Not your hair, obviously. _Your_ hair looks marvellous."

"I like your hair," Tonks whispered, her own hair darkening a little until it matched Charlie's perfectly. His breath hitched in his throat. Did she mean that? He hated his red hair, hated that it betrayed his heritage, hated the expectations it brought with it.

"We could dye it," she then suggested, hesitant. "What about… a little darker… like chestnut coloured. It would fit your eyes nicely."

Charlie swallowed audibly. She thought he would look good with darker hair? And – _wait_ – she'd noticed the colour of his eyes? His mum would throw a fit if she found out about this idea, but Charlie was the rebellious type anyway. Not the perfect son like Bill. He didn't want to be like him. He wanted something else… something wild, something with _dragons_.

"You think so?" he murmured.

Tonks nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. I just saw this new product in Hogsmeade. Next weekend I'll go fetch some dye for you, okay?"

Charlie nodded, still a little unsure about this, but Tonks' dazzling smile rewarded his decision.

* * *

 _A few days later_

"Houston, we have a problem," Tonks announced suddenly as she rinsed the water out of Charlie's newly dyed hair.

"Er – what?" Charlie asked, his eyes tightly shut because of the water. "I'm Charlie, remember? Does it look awful?"

"Umm…" Tonks said noncommittally.

His fingers found the soft fabric of a towel. He pressed it first to his face and then rubbed it through his hair.

"Um, Charlie," Tonks whispered, and her tone scared him. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Sure enough, she added, "I'm sorry."

Carefully opening his eyes, Charlie looked at her. She was biting her lip nervously; her hair had turned bright turquoise.

"I think the colour shouldn't have been used with red hair," she said.

"Why?" Charlie grabbed a few longer strands and pulled them down so he could see them. His heart stopped beating for a moment. But that couldn't be true! His hair had turned into a brilliant shade of turquoise, just the colour Tonks was sporting right now.

Unbelieving, he turned to the mirror. And there it was – a shocked face with blueish hair surrounding it stared back at him.

"Turquoise," he croaked. The new blue colour made his eyes look like two cups of weak tea in the middle of his face, and they both knew it. Damn Tonks and her persuasive smile and her scheming. What chance did he have now?

"It's a nice colour, um, really nice," Tonks attempted to reassure him and failed. She obviously thought that he looked hideous. So much for impressing her with his new style. The disappointment hit him like a punch in the gut, and all he could do was channel it into anger.

"You – you dyed my hair blue!" Charlie spluttered and turned to glare at her. "What the hell!"

"I - I'm really sorry, Charlie. I didn't know this would happen. Really," she begged. "It'll wash out soon."

"Soon? How soon?"

"Um, a few weeks?" she replied hesitantly.

"Weeks?! _Weeks?!_ You're telling me I'll have to go _weeks_ with _turquoise_ hair?" Charlie exploded.

"There might be a spell to change it, or… you could shave it." She gave him a crooked smile, but he didn't appreciate her humour right now.

"Thanks very much, Tonks," he hissed, his voice full of venom. "Remind me to never let you help me again."

With that, he stormed out of the prefect's bathroom. People stared at him as he raced through the hallways back to the security of his Common Room. Just as he stumbled through the portrait hole, he collided with his younger brothers, who'd started attending Hogwarts that year.

Fred and George goggled at him, wide-eyed.

"Something wrong?" he barked, shoving them aside.

As he walked away, he heard them whisper, "Is he wearing a wig?"

"I believe the correct term is 'toupe'," George replied.

"No, it isn't," Fred contradicted, and for a second, Charlie wondered if he should turn around and yell at them, but he had more urgent things on his mind.

He was determined to find every book there was about hair dyeing, and then he would reverse the effect. Tonks would finally realise what a great guy he was and fall for him. Everything would be alright.

And surely, he would never, _ever_ complain about his red hair again.

* * *

 _*Written for the QLFC, Season 6, Round Two.* Wigtown Wanderers vs Chudley Cannons_

 **Position: Chaser 3**

 **Position Prompt: Write about a character who's attempt to help ends negatively for the recipient/s**

 **Optional Prompts: (character) Charlie Weasley; (dialogue) "Is he wearing a wig?" / "I believe the correct term is 'toupe.'"; (colour) turquoise**

 **Title: The Blues**

 **Word Count: 1, 480**

 **Beta(s): RawMateriel, Aya Diefair**


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: This is an AU because I might have tweaked the timeline of book three here and there, and the end of this story presents an alternate version of how the Trio gets to the Whomping Willow. The first encounter between Crookshanks and Sirius is also completely fictional. :)**

 **Thanks to my betas!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _The Adventures of Crookshanks, the_ _Cat, errrr..._ _Half-Kneazle_

* * *

From the first second I saw him, I knew that something was wrong with him. Snuffles later told me that it might be because I was half-Kneazle, but I didn't know that back then. All I knew was that something was wrong with the rat in the arms of the boy with the ginger hair because it _wasn't_ a rat. It was man, a fraud, masquerading as an animal.

On the primary plane of reality he was perfectly disguised as a rat. What humans obviously didn't know was that the earthly plane consisted of seven separate but overlapping planes, on which varying levels of magical activity could be viewed. Therefore, humans were tricked by the man-hiding-as-rat because they couldn't see beyond the first plane. But I could; cats had access to two planes, and I, being half Kneazle, could glimpse into the third.

So, on the planes I could access, the rat was a fat, little man.

I sensed the danger emanating from him immediately. He was dishonest, and cowardly, and fake – all in all a danger to my new friend Hermione. I had to protect her.

Despite that the rat was in the ginger boy's arms and I in my girl's, I launched myself at him, meowing loudly. I planned to grab him and force him to reveal himself to the humans. But my plan was thwarted by the ginger boy who shielded the rat with his body.

I, however, was not one to give up.

Hermione was angry with me, but I didn't care. She didn't understand, but if she knew the truth about the rat called Scabbers, she'd help me. I connected with her on a deeper level. Maybe because she was a witch. Maybe because she loved me unconditionally – in spite of everything. I knew I wasn't handsome. All other cats had been sold before me because my fur wasn't shiny and soft, and had a strange orange tinge that was at once unusual and a little disconcerting.

When she bought me, I had no idea what adventures lay before of me. I had thought I'd spend the rest of my life in the _Magical Menagerie_ , hunting a few mice, playing with the other animals, patrolling Diagon Alley, and hiding from the shop owner. But things were to turn out quite differently. Now I was hunting a man-rat, chasing him across tables and running down hallways. Not that I was very successful at first. It was a steep learning curve – the creature outfoxed me at first, squeezing into small holes or hiding in Ginger Boy's bag. I had to become more cunning if I was to catch him.

My next chance presented itself only a few weeks after the incident on the Hogwarts train. I used the cover of the night and snuck like a shadow up the stairs to the boy's dormitory. I knew the creature had to be there; he'd begun to hide from me and seek the proximity of the ginger boy, as if the boy's presence would stop me. The fraud knew I was onto him, and he was scared of me. Rightly so.

But again, my plan went sideways. I was stopped by Ginger Boy, who screamed and raged at me.

Unfortunately, I had to stop attacking the fraud so openly.

I needed a plan.

* * *

In one of my nightly patrols across the grounds of Hogwarts, I met Snuffles. It was a curious incident. The Forbidden Forest was one of my favourite places. I liked the quiet, the smell of wet earth rich with herbs, and the light mist that hung between the trees. I was just hunting a few mice to pass the time when a bark preceded the sudden appearance of a black shadow looming over me.

For a second, I fell into defence mode – I thought I might have trespassed on a wolf's territory – but, a moment later, I realised who stood in front of me.

On the first plane, it was nothing but a black, shaggy dog. But two planes deeper, it was a man. Again.

What was wrong with the world? Humans pretending to be animals? Hiding their true identity? Wasn't their world big enough for them? Did they have to invade my world as well?

But the skinny man had a different aura than the fake-rat. It was kind and lonely. There was something heartbreaking about him, a deep pain that drew me to him. And, just like I knew that Hermione was a friend, I knew that this man was not evil – maybe even a friend, too. _Snuffles_ , he called himself. It wasn't his human name, but the man seemed more animal than human to me anyway.

And from him, I learned everything about the disguised rat; about the terrible betrayal that Peter Pettigrew had committed, about the pain that resided inside Snuffles that stemmed from the murder of his best friend and being accused for it. For an outsider, our conversation would have probably looked ridiculous. A lot of barking, mewing, howling, and purring. But I understood him perfectly.

I needed to help Snuffles. This man, this Peter Pettigrew, was a danger to my witch, and I would not allow him to hide his identity any longer.

So we teamed up. We planned, plotted, and schemed for months, but… nothing became of it. Finally, we decided that I would help Snuffles sneak into Hogwarts, and he would get his revenge on the fake-rat to reveal his crimes.

It was easy to procure a list with passwords from the plump, blond boy who seemed as forgetful as an old dodderer.

But again, as plans go, things went south. Snuffles became desperate, and even I, with the patience inbred in all cats, was restless. The school year drew to a close, and it became increasingly difficult for Snuffles to sneak onto the grounds.

Then, Scabbers went into hiding, and I wasn't able to track him down (if only my grandfather knew this, he'd turn in his grave. He was said to be a master of tracking down lost things. He even found my grandma after she'd been bought by a French wizard and shipped off to the continent – at least, I assumed he did. I never saw him again).

The hunt for the rat involved an annoying amount of running around on my part, and a lot of hiding and waiting in the old house near the Wizarding village on Snuffles' part. He didn't like it. Neither did I. Not that I wasn't a very active and perfectly fit cat despite my regal size, but the grounds of Hogwarts were vast – and I mean _vast_. (Have you ever tried covering a hundred square miles of forests and mountains? It's not a lot of fun, I'll tell you.)

* * *

"Crookshanks! Crookshanks, come back!" my witch shouted after me, but I had a plan. This time I wouldn't fail. I would lead Hermione and her friends right to Snuffles, and he could explain everything. And – as a bonus, so to speak – the rat would come right with us.

They were running after me as I led the way to the Whomping Willow and the secret passageway underneath it.

"Crookshanks, wait," my witch yelled and I stopped just short of the willow, my heart beating wildly in my chest from the sprint. "Crookshanks, don't go there. That tree's dangerous."

I yowled lowly and retreated a little, waiting for my witch and her followers to catch up with me. "Crookshanks, wait," Hermione repeated, approaching me, her hands outstretched. My tail twitched in response.

"Who's a good boy?" she coaxed. "Come to me, kitty."

I gave her a look full of disbelief – _I'm not a kitty!_ – and ran right into the whipping branches of the willow.

"Crookshanks!" my witch screamed, panic flooding into her voice. But I knew what I was doing. After I had touched the little knot near the base, the tree became immobilised.

Snuffles was already waiting for us inside the tunnels, hiding in its shadows. I wouldn't fail him this time. Our plan would work and we would manage to expose that fraud Peter Pettigrew.

Proudly, my tail held high, I led the trio inside the secret passageway.

* * *

 _*Written for the QLFC, Season 6, Round Four.*_

 _Position: Chaser 3_

 _Position Prompt: PoV of an pet: adventure_

 _Optional Prompts:_ _(action) running, (sound) bark or mew(dialogue), "Who's a good boy/girl?"_

 _Title: The Adventures of Crookshanks, the_ _Cat, errrr..._ _Half-Kneazle_

 _Word Count: 1, 373_

 _Betas: Aya Diefair, AelysAlthea_

* * *

 _ ***Written for THC, Year 3, Round 1***_

 _ **House: Ravenclaw**_

 _ **Year: 1**_

 _ **Category: Standard**_

 _ **Prompts: Hiding**_

 _ **W/C: 1,373**_

 _ **Betas: ThisPiper**_


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Let's tavel back in time together ... to the time of the founders. This might be AU, but I like to think that this could have happened (my headcanon now!).**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

 _Selfish Love_

* * *

Although it was still light outside, the forest was already submerged in utter darkness. Only a few oblique sun rays made it through the thick canopy. Helena swallowed loudly. Why would her mysterious date invite her into the forest at such an hour?

Dead branches broke under her feet as she silently made her way deeper into the woods, her wand clutched in her hand. She sneered in distaste at the scent of rotten leaves mixed with the stink of wet dog. Why would anyone think _this_ romantic?

 _It is a precaution, my dear, so your mother will not find out about us_ , the letter had said. And she had believed it. Now, Helena had begun to wonder if she might have made a mistake by trusting the unknown sender of the love letter. But his words had touched her, inspired her, made her curious. Nobody had ever managed to do that before.

Helena expected a lot from the boys who presumed to court her. They had to match her in intelligence and wit. They should come from money and own lands and castles; be noblemen if possible. Looks were not unimportant either - she imagined wavy blond hair and green eyes. But that wasn't all. The young men ought to put an effort into courting her, send her flowers, surprise her with gifts, write her witty love letters, invite her to dinner, buy her new gowns, and admire and worship her. Needless to say, nobody lived up to her high standards.

 _True love is surely hard to find_ , Helena thought, a little bitter. But this man – maybe he was _the one_? Oh, his letters set her heart on fire. They way he spoke of her… she sighed, smiling.

 _You are the mirror of the night. The violent flash of lightning_ , he had written in his first letter, and, although a little simple, it had charmed her. The letters had continued sending her warm words of adoration:

 _The charms of the incomparable Helena kindle continually a burning and a glowing flame in my heart._

From there, it went, deeper and deeper each time.

 _It seems to me, to myself, that no man was ever before to any woman what you are to me_ , he had written. _Is it wonderful that I should stand as in a dream, and disbelieve – not you – but my own fate? How shall I ever prove what my heart is to you? How will you ever see it as I feel it?_

She hadn't replied – she never did - but she carried his letters around every hour of the day. And his last letter… pleading for a reply, begging her to meet him in the Forbidden Forest, after almost asking for her hand.

 _But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give up your heart and body to me, who will be - and have been - your most loyal servant, I promise you that not only the name shall be given you, but also that I will take you for my sole mistress and serve you only. I beseech you to give an entire answer to this, my rude letter, that I may know on what and how far I may depend._

So Helena had agreed to meet him at the appointed hour and spot, more curious than ever whom he might be. A student? – But all of them were naïve little boys, not capable of such literary genius or passion. A teacher? – Heaven forbid, her mother would never allow it. Besides, most of them were old enough to be her father. A stranger, then… a villager maybe, or a Scottish laird, or a French duke?

A low howling sound echoing through the forest brought Helena back to the present. Could that be wolves?

She gripped her wand tighter, followed the little path around a bend to the arranged place, and… froze. The whole clearing was lit up with candles, chasing away the darkness and bathing everything in a warm golden light. Her breath hitched in her throat.

The scene was truly beautiful.

Some candles stood around a throw on the ground, some were floating in the air like lost fireflies. Consumed by awe, she stepped onto the clearing. Small branches cracked under her feet, but she barely noticed. The flickering, fiery candle light pulled her in like a magnet until she stood in front of the blanket.

"Hello?" Helena called out tentatively.

"I am here," a voice replied. She recognised it dimly, as if from a dream. She turned and saw a man hiding in the shadows. His sword caught the orange light, reflecting it. "You have come," he added.

"I told you I would," Helena replied, her mouth suddenly dry. "Who are you?"

The silhouette shifted, and she caught a glimpse of his profile. He was tall, much taller than her, with a sharp-angled face.

A low chuckle reached her ears. "I thought you knew already. I tried to court you last year, but you rejected me. You were too young to marry, you said. Now you are older, your education almost over. After the exams next month, you will be free." He made a step forward, and, finally, Helena could see his face. She gasped, more in surprise than anything else.

"And then, my dear Helena, you will have to marry. That is the law. And who is better suited to be your husband than I?" the Baron continued, casually approaching her.

He wore fine clothes, newly tailored, which accentuated his tall and slim figure. His Slytherin green silk tunic was the only touch of colour on him. Its collar was embroidered with silver, as was the brooch that held his black, fur-lined coat in place. His stockings were made of dark leather, and his knee-length trousers were dyed black as well. He wore his charcoal hair tied back, a hat on his head.

"But…" Helena stammered. She couldn't believe it! _The Baron_! He was arrogant, and conceited, and hot-tempered; not at all like the man that she had imagined writing those wonderful letters! She made step back, almost stumbling over a candle. " _You_!"

The Baron nodded. "You seem surprised," he noted, stepping over the last row of candles to reach her, but she retreated just as quickly. "I see." He sighed. "I should have told you sooner, my dear. I am sorry for hiding my identity."

"You should have," she replied, trying desperately to regain her composure and use that famous wit of hers to her advantage. But she was still speechless and utterly stunned.

"Please sit," he invited her. "I have dreamt of this night. Oh, Helena, I have dreamt of you being mine for so long."

"I'm not yours," she said quickly, maybe a little too quickly.

A flash of anger crossed the Baron's face, but he hid it swiftly. "But you will be, my Helena. _My_ Helena."

"My mother will never allow it," Helena stalled, taking another step back. It wasn't that she categorically disliked the Baron, but there was a part of her that feared him, and she could never be with a man that she feared. She wanted to be equals, and not, like the laws of the time dictated, his property.

"Don't worry about her. I have already arranged a marriage contract with your parents," he said, apparently trying to reassure her.

Her heart stopped beating for a second and then continued twice as fast. "You did what?" she gasped. A _marriage contract_? How could he betray her so? How could her parents betray her like this?

The Baron bit his lip. "I shouldn't have told you."

"I will not marry you!" Helena snapped, her stupor replaced by anger. He had gone behind her back to secure her hand. That was cowardly, and she despised him for it.

"Forget I ever said it, my dear. Let me show you what a wonderful husband I would make to you. I could buy you the most wonderful dresses, take you around the world, provide you with a lifestyle worthy of a queen. Don't you want that?"

Helena clenched her fist. "I am not bought like a horse. All the gold in the world would not buy you my love."

His face went hard like a stone mask. "Still so cruel?"

"Still so constant, Baron." She made another step back. "I should leave."

"No!" he exclaimed, reaching for her. "Don't reject me, my Helena. My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you."

"I fear you must, Baron," Helena replied coolly while casually sidestepping him. "I cannot marry you."

"Why not?" he asked, his voice strangely hoarse.

"You are not worthy of me," she replied arrogantly, already half-turning.

"I see you for what you are; you are too proud. But, even if you were the devil, you are fair. Oh, but a man could dream…" he whispered. "And I dreamt."

She didn't want to hear this, didn't want to believe that the Baron might actually have a heart. She would never be his, not until she'd died a thousand fiery deaths. She let the rage consume her and laced her words with poison, "By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth. And that no man has; nor never none shall master be of it, save I alone."

Helena didn't wait for his reaction. She leapt over the last candles and ran, ran back to the castle and the safety it provided. She would be no wife.

And if it was the death of her, then so be it.

* * *

 _*Written for the QLFC, Season 6, Round Five.*_

 _Position: Chaser 3_

 _Position Prompt:_ _Use the title of a story written by your Chaser 1 for inspiration – "A Man Could Dream"_

 _Optional Prompts: (dialogue) "I should have told you sooner.", (setting) Forbidden Forest, (object) candle_

 _Title: Selfish Love_

 _Word Count: 1, 610_

 _Beta(s):_ _Aya Diefair, Dina_

* * *

 ** _*Written for THC, Year 3, Round 1*_**

 ** _House: Ravenclaw_**

 ** _Year: 1_**

 ** _Category: Short_**

 ** _Prompts: Helena Ravenclaw_**

 ** _W/C: 1,610_**

 ** _Beta(s): 2D, Holly, Piper_**


	34. Chapter 34

**And We Will Come Back Home**

With squealing brakes, the Hogwarts Express came to a stop at King's Cross station. For a second, the steam was so thick that Ginny almost couldn't see the people waiting on the platform for her. Not that she needed to be picked up – she wasn't a little girl anymore and she was allowed to Apparate by herself. But strangely enough, she felt comforted by the fact that there were two red-headed people outside, patiently waiting for her.

She caught a glimpse of black hair, next to her mother and Ron, and her stomach somersaulted. She wasn't sure if it was excitement or fear to see Harry again.

When she had left for Hogwarts a few months ago, they hadn't really talked about their relationship. She knew Harry had wanted to give her time to grieve her brother and friends, wanted her to make an 'informed decision' about what she wanted. Ginny hadn't taken that very well. At that point, she had thought it was his way of telling her to stay away, to 'break up' with her – again. However, after a few weeks, she had begun to understand. Ginny had not been ready for a relationship. Her emotions were all over the place, and she was barely able to handle the loss of Fred. Harry didn't want her to be dependent on him. He was there if she really needed him – may it be in writing or a visit in Hogsmeade – but he quickly put a stop to her attempts to drown her pain in him.

She knew Harry suffered, too. Ron told her about the nightmares that never really went away. Ginny was used to nightmares herself. First, it had been every few nights; now, it was only once a week or so that she woke up screaming and thrashing. Then she would stand up, grab her broom, and apply the only coping mechanism she knew – flying.

"Come on, Gin," Hermione's voice startled her out if her reverie. Ginny flinched and quickly got up.

"Sorry."

The other witch gave her a weak smile. "Don't worry. It'll be fine. Promise."

Hermione knew about her doubts and fears concerning Harry, and they had agreed that the Christmas break was the perfect time to have a heart-to-heart.

Only carrying a small bag with her, Ginny stepped out of the train and was instantly enveloped in a bone-breaking hug.

"Mum!" she protested, but secretly savoured the feeling of being hugged, of being completely safe and at home. The familiar smell of her mother surrounded her, and she had to swallow thickly as sobs threatened to well up in her chest.

"Oh, sorry," Molly said, releasing Ginny. "It's just so good to have you back!" Her mother beamed at her, and Ginny felt compelled to smile back.

"It's good to be home, too," she replied.

"Gin!" Ron exclaimed, breaking up the moment between mother and daughter. He pulled her into a hug. Over his shoulder, she could see Harry, respectfully keeping his distance from the family reunion. Although he seemed to be talking with Hermione, his eyes were on her, and when their gazes met, her heart skipped a beat.

She freed herself from Ron and walked towards him, as if pulled by a magnet. Should she hug him? Or not?

Thankfully, Harry solved that puzzle for her by opening his arms, inviting her. Closing her eyes, she fell into his embrace. All the tension and awkwardness left her, and, suddenly, Ginny knew that it had been the right decision to come home.

"It's so good to be home," she whispered into Harry's shirt, and she heard him chuckle.

"I know."

* * *

"I had forgotten how much I loved being home," Ginny whispered into Hermione's ear on Christmas morning.

Her mum was making pancakes in the kitchen – a special Prewett recipe. Her dad was sitting in an armchair, reading a Muggle magazine about Christmas. Even Charlie had come home from Romania; he and Bill were outside preparing some last minute gifts. Percy was sitting at the table, nervously straightening his glasses; he seemed a little unsure if he was really welcome, but he bravely tried to make conversation with Fleur. Ron and Harry were huddled together in a corner of the living room, whispering to each other like two school girls. Ginny suspected that there was something going on, guessing that Ron had a special gift for Hermione and needed either Harry's help or his reassurances. Even George was downstairs, not really smiling, but not brooding either.

And yes, there was this terrible, terrible gap; a part that would stay lost forever. Ginny knew that never a day in her life would go by where she wouldn't miss Fred. But she didn't let that thought rip her apart.

No, today she cherished what she had. She was surrounded by so much love, so much friendship. It made her feel lucky, it made her feel rich. Ginny didn't care that none of her presents would be especially expensive because she had something far more valuable than money.

A family.

* * *

Icy wind hit Ginny's face as she sped through the air. Her fingers were already numb, but she didn't care. She needed the speed and the way her stomach flipped when she rushed into a steep dive; only high up in the air, she could reflect on her thoughts and feelings where nobody could see her. So she ascended to the morning sky until the garden was in miniature below, then rolled to the side and almost went into free fall until – only a few metres before the ground – she took control of the broom and returned to a horizontal position. Ginny sped up and zoomed over the garden like he used to do as a child, relishing in the air blowing her hair out of her face, marvelling at the speed her broom was capable of achieving. The wind blew some of her anger, her fear, and her pain away.

Merlin, she _loved_ flying.

She had been so captivated by the sensation that she didn't notice the figure that had approached the pitch.

"What _the hell_ are you doing?" Harry yelled at her. Ginny was so surprised that she almost fell from her broom. She turned sharply and flew towards him, stopping mere inches in front of him.

"You could've killed me!" she snapped, angry that he had interrupted her flying ritual.

"It looked like you were fine doing that by yourself," he retorted, his green eyes flashing. He looked genuinely furious.

"What do you mean?"

"The way you went into free fall…" His voice broke. "It looked like you were going to kill yourself."

Something inside Ginny snapped. _He_ had the audacity to lecture _her_ about risky manoeuvres, about _dying_. "Screw you, Harry Potter," she hissed, jumped back on her broom, and took off.

"Ginny!" he called after her, but she didn't care.

She didn't want to go back inside, but it was also too cold to keep on flying. She wanted a refuge, somewhere to feel safe. Without thinking, she directed her broom towards the old treehouse that her dad had made with Bill and Charlie when they had been children. All of the children had loved the treehouse, but Ginny even more than others. When the Burrow had become too crowded or her brothers too mean, she had hid here.

Quickly, she climbed up the ladder and slipped inside. Casting a warming charm, she sat down and stared at the wall. She knew her flying was reckless, but that was all she could do to cope. She deeply breathed in the familiar smell of wood and dust, and tried to let it comfort her, but it didn't work.

"Ginny?" a soft voice asked a moment later. She looked up and saw Harry standing in the doorway. She bit her lip and looked away.

Harry sighed, and seeing that she wouldn't answer, he simply stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The light was dim, only a few pale sunrays slanted through the cracks in the wood. It was still early morning, and the sun hadn't completely risen.

"What's going on?" he asked gently.

Ginny shook her head, scared her voice wouldn't obey her. She was so angry, so hurt, she didn't know if she would scream or cry when she opened her mouth.

"Do you always fly like this?" he continued. The reprimand she had expected in his voice wasn't there. So she nodded.

He searched her gaze. "Why?"

"Because it makes me feel alive," she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It makes the nightmares go away, the bad memories, the pain, the…" Her voice trailed away.

Without looking at him, she knew that there would be guilt etched into his face, and she didn't want to see it.

"You scared me."

Ginny clenched her fists. She had to talk to him _now_. They had to finally be honest to each other, they had to make a decision about their future.

"I had a crush on you for ages, you know," Ginny began, "on the hero, on the idea of you. Then I met the real person – and you were wonderful. But you _died_." Ginny swallowed audibly. "I saw you die, and I knew it was over." Her fingers tightened around her legs, and she closed her eyes for a second, tormented by a kind of agony that neither flame nor curse could cause. But then anger flashed through the pain, and she looked up. "You fucking left me, Harry Potter."

Harry's face darkened. "Do you think I had a choice? Do you think I _wanted_ to die?"

Ginny shrugged. "Yes. If it meant saving the Wizarding world. And I'm afraid that it'll always be like this – you'll push me away if things get difficult, you'll always put me second to the world." Her words hung between them for a few moments. Wind rustled through the dead leaves around them and the birds chirping in the tree above almost drowned out Ginny's next words. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to go through that again."

"Ginny, I –" Harry's voice broke. "I don't know what I can say other than that I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I love you, Ginny," he added, and her head snapped around. "Please, don't leave me for this. Please, don't punish me for last year. I couldn't take it if the war would cost me you, too."

He was begging her, literally begging her, and something inside her chest twisted.

"Why did you give me that bracelet, Harry?" she asked, turning her arm adorned with a new silver bracelet. "Why did you buy Dad a new coat, and a new hat for Mum?"

He blinked at her, confused about her change of topic. "Because I have more money than I can spend." He frowned. "Do you mind?"

"What? That you're rich?" She shook her head. "No. But that's not the reason, is it?"

His frown deepened. "What is it then? I just wanted to give them – you – something nice, something that makes up for all the nights I woke you up with my nightmares, for all the pain I caused you."

"Harry." Ginny leaned forward. "You don't need to buy our love. We don't blame you for… for Fred."

Harry looked down at his hands.

"I don't need your money, Harry," Ginny continued softly. "I need you to stand by me, even when push comes to shove, when there are a million noble reasons to push me away again. You have given the world everything you have. You don't owe them anything anymore." She reached out and took his hand. "It's selfish, I know, but I want you to put _me_ first."

"Promise me something," he said. "Promise me you'll stop flying like this. And I'll promise you that I'll try."

A small smile ghosted over her face. "That's all I wanted to hear."

* * *

 _ ***Written for the QLFC, Season 6, Round Nine.***_

 _Position: Chaser 3_

 _Position Prompt:_ Ginny Weasley

 _Optional Prompts:_ (setting) treehouse, (dialogue) "It's so good to be home.", (word) rich

 _Title: And we will come back home_

 _Word Count: 1,996_

 _Beta(s): Lynne_

* * *

 _ ***Written for THC, Year 3, Round 5***_

 _House: Ravenclaw_

 _Year: 1_

 _Category: Short_

 _Prompts:_ [Action] - Flying

 _W/C: 1, 996_

 _Beta(s): Piper_

* * *

 **The title is borrowed from a song from 'The Greatest Showman' ( _From Now On_ ). If you don't know it, check it out! And, as always, reviews make me happy :)**


	35. Chapter 35

**_A/N:_ This is probably AU. But I guess Death Eaters weren't treated very kindly in prison/Detention Centre. **

* * *

It took Kingsley a week to get the permission for Harry to visit Azkaban. Since the new regulations had been put in place, it was almost impossible to visit the island.

Harry couldn't believe he was really doing this, visiting Draco Malfoy in prison.

Draco and his father had been arrested the day after the battle, and had been awaiting trial ever since. The charges against Draco were pretty severe – he was accused of willingly joining the Death Eaters and of the attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore.

Narcissa hadn't been allowed to visit her son or husband and had thus called in her life debt with Harry. That was the reason Harry was now using a special Floo connection to Azkaban. The guards looked at his permission with suspicion, but their eyes widened when they recognised the name on the paper.

"Why would _you_ visit Death Eater scum?" one man remarked idly. "Come to get some revenge, eh?" He winked at him, opening an iron door. "This way to the Detention Centre."

Harry glanced at the guy's name tag. "Actually, Mr. Cooper, Malfoy's not a Death Eater. The charges are wrong."

The guy began to laugh. "Good one, Potter."

He signalled Harry to follow him through the door. They walked along a hallway with iron doors, around a few corners, to the last cell in the row.

"Don't think he'll talk much," Cooper muttered, unlocking the door. "But suit yourself."

The door swung open, revealing a pitch black cell. The guard flicked his wand and a window appeared on the wall across from them. Dim light fell on a sickly-pale figure lying on the floor, unconscious. More rags than clothes hung from his limp body, revealing livid, purple bruises on nearly every inch of it.

"Merlin," Harry cursed after Cooper had left. He'd been sent to make sure Draco was alright, but from the looks of it, he was as far from alright as possible. His left eye was swollen and a nasty cut on his cheek bore witness to his acquaintance with the iron bars.

"Who the hell did this to you?" Harry hissed, more to himself than to Draco. But, instantly, the Slytherin bolted upright, flinching away from him, his arms lifted up to protect his face. Harry froze, waiting for Draco to recognise him.

Haunted grey eyes searched Harry's gaze. " _Potter_?"

"Yes," he answered quickly, listening for Draco's panicked breathing to die down.

"What are you doing here?" Draco finally asked, standing up with shaking legs. He cast a glance at the window and raised one eyebrow. "Wow. You really played the hero card, didn't you?"

"Your mother sent me to make sure you're… okay," Harry finished lamely.

Draco paled. "Mother? Is she… is she…?"

"She's fine. She'll have a hearing but nothing more. No trial like you," he explained reassuringly.

Draco stopped rubbing his left arm, and now stared at Harry as if he couldn't believe he was here. Harry's gaze lingered on his arm for a moment, then wandered back to the black and blue face. The uncontrollable urge to hit someone overcame him. Draco was far from being his friend, but Harry couldn't look away if someone was treated unfairly and cruelly. He wouldn't let the guards get away with this.

Draco closed his eyes. "When will my trial be?"

"Three weeks."

Suddenly, Draco buried his face in his hands and his shoulders started to shake. Startled, Harry stepped back. He'd thought Draco would rather try to ride Buckbeak again than to let Harry see him vulnerable and crying.

"Um… Malfoy?" Harry asked gingerly, wishing suddenly he hadn't come.

"You don't get it, do you?" Draco said, his voice muffled. "The trial's a sham. I'll be found guilty. I'll spend the rest of my life here."

"But – but our testimony…" Harry sputtered.

"They'll find a way to exclude it, or maybe they'll bring in a rebuttal witness. Some Death Eater. They'll love to get their revenge."

"B-but –" Harry began, outraged by the mere idea of such a corrupt justice system.

Draco shrugged, wiping his tears away. "This isn't about justice, Potter, it's revenge. We hurt them and they hurt us back, makes them look good in the eyes of the public…" His voice trailed away and he closed his eyes again. "I am a Death Eater. I've deserved punishment."

* * *

 _A/N: My story "No More Broken Dreams" has been nominated for the Good Things Come to Those Who Hustle (Favorite Co-Worker Era) in the Beyond the Book Fanfiction Nook Summer Awards 2018!_

 _Thank you so much to everyone who has read my stories, and who has nominated me and my first story. It is an amazing feeling._

 _Cheers to everyone else who has been nominated!_

 **Please VOTE FOR ME here** : *goo*.*gl/*forms/*rmftYXR*G9V5yuIff2* (remove stars)

* * *

 ** _*Written for THC, Year 3, Round 6*_**

 ** _House: Ravenclaw_**

 ** _Year: 1_**

 ** _Category: Drabble_**

 ** _Prompts: [_** Action] Visiting Azkaban

 ** _W/C: 726_**

 ** _Beta: 2D_**


	36. Chapter 36

_The Crucible_

* * *

Lisa Turpin woke with a start, her heart pounding loud in her ears. With unseeing eyes, she stared into the all-engulfing darkness and fought with the scream that lay dormant in her throat. Her hands were still raised to ward off the attackers that hadn't been real, after all.

The problem was only that they had been real not so long ago, that they weren't just fictional monsters that her mind had conjured up to haunt her.

 _It was just a nightmare_ , Lisa tried to tell herself – an especially cruel one, so much was true; she could still feel the aftereffects in her body: the racing heart, the sweaty palms, the rapid breathing. Jerkily, she ripped the curtains open, searching desperately for a ray of light that would confirm she was really at Hogwarts. But the relief she felt when he saw the shapeless shadows of the three four-poster beds was short-lived. She knew this place was the reason for her nightmare. A school for witches. She still didn't know how to feel about that. Everyone here seemed to fit in so perfectly; they were so comfortable with their magic, but she… wasn't.

Classes would start tomorrow, and Lisa was scared. She was afraid of using magic, of being unable to control it. She had debated for a long time if she should even go to that school because that meant acknowledging that part of her that she hated the most. No, hate wasn't the right word – she was ashamed of it. It was like a stigma, a black spot that tainted her, and she was afraid the Muggles could see it.

That was finally the reason she decided to go. She was not accepted in Muggle society, couldn't hide that she was different. Maybe here, in a castle full of people like her, she would find friends. Maybe she wouldn't feel tainted and dirty anymore, wouldn't feel like an outsider, an outcast, whenever her magic acted up.

With a sigh, Lisa untangled herself from the sheets and nearly fell to the floor trying to stand up, disoriented and out of balance. She still felt her body aching from blows that hadn't actually hit her, her breathing was still ragged and panicked, her pyjamas clinging uncomfortably to her sweat soaked body. Careful not to wake anyone, she stumbled over to the bathroom.

The bathroom was gloomy; only one tall window illuminated the white and slate-coloured tiles, which formed a chequered pattern over the floor and the walls. Lisa, however, didn't notice any of this. She just floundered to the sink and splashed cold water into her face.

It didn't help.

Hot tears of panic and despair welled up in her eyes, sobs choking her. Unable to stop crying, she crumbled to the floor and hid her face in her hands.

"Lisa?" a small voice asked suddenly and her head snapped up towards it. Padma Patil stood in the doorway, her face half hidden in shadows.

"I'm fine," Lisa choked out, quickly wiping away her tears. But her efforts were futile. New tears spilled over as soon as she'd removed the old ones.

"What's wrong?" the other Ravenclaw asked gently, sitting down beside her.

"N-nothing," Lisa lied.

They were silent for a few moments. Then, Padma whispered, "Did you have a nightmare?" Before she could react, the other girl had pulled her into a warm embrace. And as if a dam inside her broke at the touch, Lisa started to cry in earnest.

Padma said nothing, just rubbed the other girl's back soothingly. Finally, when Lisa's sobs had subsided into quiet sniffles, she asked, "What was it about?"

"I…" Lisa faltered. She didn't know if she could tell the other girl about it, but something about the intimacy of the moment and the promise of friendship in her touch compelled her to tell the truth.

"My parents are Muggles, you know," she began. "We live in a small town in Ireland…

"I was seven when I found out that I was a witch. Maybe, things would've been different if my stister had stayed out of my room. It was so stupid, really. Anyway, Misty Day was my first friend, my playground friend, and we also went to primary school together. She always wore her blonde hair in pigtails at the side of her head, and she loved glitter. One afternoon, she was over at my place. We went to my room because I wanted to show her the new dress my parents had bought for me, only to find out that my little sister – Melanie – had stolen it. She always borrowed my stuff, and I had told her a thousand times to stay out of my room.

"Angrily, I stormed into Melanie's room, demanding back my dress. We got into a huge fight because she pretended that she hadn't taken it.

"'You always get new things,' Melanie had yelled.

"'That's not true! Give me my dress now, and, for the last time, _stay out of my room_!' I'd screamed back. I was so furious that she embarrassed me in front of Misty. So, without thinking, I went to her closet and began searching for the new dress.

"'No! Stop that!' Melanie had cried, pulling at my arm to force me away from the closet.

"But I had already found the blue dress, grabbed it, and ran back into my room. Melanie wasn't giving up, though. She followed me into my room. That's when things went really bad. I remember that I screamed at her again, "Stay out of my room!", and then, my magic reacted. It pushed Melanie out of my room against the wall of the hallway and banged the door shut."

Lisa's fingers started shaking and she clenched them into fists to not betray her reaction. She had to stay sober, neutral, detached. But there was a slight trembling in her voice when she continued, "Misty had seen everything. And before I could react, she'd stormed out of my house. I didn't think any of it. We were all in shock. My parents explained the whole incident away and I believed them. But… but the next day, when I went to the playground to meet Misty, and …"

Lisa swallowed hard, images flashing in front of her eyes. Padma seemed to realise her distress because she put a calming hand on her shoulder.

Finally, Lisa was able to continue, "She'd told the other kids about me, and Simon, whose father was a priest, told everyone I was a witch, possessed by a demon; that I was worshipping Satan, and they had to exorcise me. You wouldn't think people nowadays could still believe in that kind of bullshit, but Misty had seen what I could do. And, in their catholic mind, that was the only solution. Kids are cruel, you know…

"They had decided I was evil, and now they hunted me, hunted me over the playground, through the streets, into the forest. None of the adults stopped it; they thought we were playing a game. Branches caught in my dress and tore it. And what the woods didn't manage, _they_ finished after they'd caught me." Lisa stopped abruptly, unable to form the words that would describe what the other children had done to her.

"My parents found me hours later, half-dead, bleeding and broken, with my dress torn – my new, beautiful, blue dress ruined, " Lisa whispered. "I was in the hospital for days."

Carefully, she glanced at Padma, but the face of the other girl gave nothing away.

"We moved away after that, but I never felt safe again, never felt normal, or accepted. Something was so _wrong_ with me that everybody would be able to see it…" her voice broke, as shame washed through her.

"That's rubbish," Padma suddenly said. "Nothing's wrong with you, Lisa. You're a witch. That's perfectly normal and nothing to be ashamed of." She took her hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry for what your friends did to you, but _they_ were _wrong…_ "

"I'm tired," Lisa interrupted her abruptly, shaking Padma's hands off. "I'm going to bed."

Hastily, she struggled to her feet and practically ran out of the bathroom. She felt the other girl's eyes following her all the way to the door, knowing that this wasn't over. But she'd had to flee after baring her soul to the Ravenclaw. She felt too vulnerable to listen to Padma's well-meaning lies.

Of course, something was wrong with her!

In bed, pressing her eyes tightly shut, Lisa prayed she would survive the coming days.

* * *

 **Written for the QLFC, Season 6, Round Eleven.**

 **Position: Chaser 3**

 **Position Prompt: American Horror Story**

 **Optional Prompts: (dialogue) "Stay out of my room!" (object) a torn dress, (emotion) shame**

 **Title: The Crucible**

 **Word Count: 1, 432**

 **Beta(s): Lynne**


	37. Chapter 37

**_*_** ** _Written for THC, Year 3, Round 9*_**

 ** _House: Ravenclaw_**

 ** _Year: 1_**

 ** _Category: Standard_**

 ** _Prompts:_** [Speech] "I hate to ask, but does anyone have a spot of chocolate?"

 ** _W/C: 1,259_**

 ** _Beta(s): 2D_**

* * *

Snow crunched under Harry's soles as he ventured deeper and deeper into the woods. Breaking branches and quiet footsteps behind him told him that Ron was also fighting his way through the undergrowth. It was almost too dark to see anything. No moonlight broke through the impenetrable wall of clouds, heavy with snow. The feeble light of his wand could barely chase away the darkness and he was unable to discern his surroundings..

Harry shivered. It was ice cold. Not the best weather for having to complete a training mission, but the Auror department didn't care about such things. Today, a test was scheduled, so there would be a test, not matter the weather.

A portkey had sent them to an unknown location. They had to retrieve an object that was hidden and protected by dangerous beasts and dark curses and protection spells. Ron and he had already made it through the most part, and they knew they were close to the end.

The snow had begun to fall slowly but steadily. Flakes of silver glimmered all around, falling obliquely against the wand light, covering the frozen forest floor, and laying in heavy drifts against the trees. It was almost peaceful… almost. Harry never forgot that there must be some monsters lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting for their prey.

"We have to hurry or I'll freeze to death," Ron muttered behind him, his voice too loud in the forest that stood silent and frozen.

Wind drove snowflakes into Harry's eyes as he climbed up a short, steep slope. His breath stood in clouds in front of his mouth, and he cursed. It was too cold to wander aimlessly through the woods.

They reached the top of the little hill, and there it was: a frozen lake on a small clearing, a fallen tree. It could have been beautiful were it not for the cold. Goosebumps ran over Harry's back.

"It's here," he whispered, pointing down at the lake. In its middle stood the rusty metal can – the object they had to retrieve and their portkey back into the Ministry.

Ron nodded and together they slid down the hill.

"That was easier than I thought," Ron said as they reached the lake. "Let's grab the can and get out of here. I can't wait for the hot chocolate they promised us when we get back."

Harry half-smiled. He was also craving the hot liquid that would warm him up again. But something about this place felt wrong. The clearing was as silent as a graveyard; not the calm, comfortable silence of the Hogwarts library, but the silence of death. No bird was sitting in the trees, no squirrel was digging for nuts. No heartbeat, no warmth. Only cold.

The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees with every step they made, and Harry's teeth started chattering.

"The ice seems solid," Harry said, carefully examining the lake. "Let's do this."

"Harry," Ron breathed, stopping him. "That seems too easy."

Harry nodded. "I feel the same. Something's wrong with this place."

Suddenly, a deep hopelessness overcame him, like all happiness was suddenly sucked out of him.

The light of their wands seemed to falter; it flickered like candles in the wind. The blink of an eye later, it went out and the duo stood in total darkness in the middle of the forest. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into Harry's flesh, and he felt utterly lost.

That was when Harry knew that something was terribly wrong.

This feeling was awfully familiar, and he knew what caused it. Scanning the forest, he noticed that there was something else beside Ron – a creature, only visible because it was of a denser darkness than its surroundings. Dragging, rattling breaths reached his ears.

"Bugger!" he cursed. "Dementors!"

Ron spun around, his wand pointing at the creature.

Noiselessly, the Dementor glided over the ground towards them, and the deadened feeling inside of Harry grew. All happiness, all hope, seemed to drain from him and was substituted with guilt, and pain, and despair.

His mum's screams filled his head as the creature edged closer, one bony, grey hand outstretched to grab him.

A strangled sound tore from Ron's throat, "Harry!"

Harry cursed himself. He'd allowed himself to be paralysed by the Dementor's power, and now it was almost too late.

"I've got this," he said, his voice strangely husky. Harry tightened his fingers around his wand, trying desperately to summon a spark of happiness. " _Expecto… Expecto Patronum_!" Wisps of silvery light flowed out of his wand, stopping the Dementor that had reached for them. The momentary reprieve from the power of the Dementors was all Harry needed to pull himself together, pushing the memory fragments aside that threatened to drown him.

In the light of the Patronus, he was finally able to see their attackers. They were surrounded by at least five tall, wraith-like creatures, their long cloaks dragging over the forest floor as they glided towards them.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," Ron cried and a little dog sprang from the tip of his wand. Instantly, the Patronus hunted the creature that was closest. Its mere presence seemed to chase away the darkness and cold. It seemed to be made of pure joy, and Harry felt like a weight was lifted from his chest.

He concentrated on Ginny's laugh, her sparkling eyes, her lips on his lips, and cast, " _Expecto Patronum_!"

Without problems, his stag Patronus appeared, tackling the Dementor that had homed in on them from behind. Guarded by their two Patronuses, they made their way over the ice to the rusty can.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

"Bloody hell, yes," Ron sighed.

They both grabbed the can, and the forest disappeared.

Back in the Auror training gym, warmth welcomed them.

"That was close," Ron said quietly, taking off his wet winter jacket.

"Yeah, thanks for the help, mate," Harry replied.

"I'll always have your back." Ron grinned at him. "Let's go collect our prize."

Harry smiled back and followed his friend out of the gym. "Just out of curiosity – what did you think about?"

Ron flushed red. "Hot chocolate."

Harry burst out laughing, and all the tension of the past hours left him. Ron joined in after a second, and their laughter echoed through the building. They were still laughing as they entered the main room.

Everyone inside looked up, a little startled.

"What's going on with you two?" Auror Mellark asked, a frown furrowing her brow. "If I had known that these missions are so much fun for you, I'd have sent you more often."

"No, sir," Harry hastened to say, trying desperately to banish the grin from his features. "We're just really looking forward to the hot chocolate."

Auror Mellark quirked an eyebrow. "Really? Well, I'm sorry to tell you, but we're out. You were the last of the recruits to come back, Potter. Sorry."

"Out?" Ron gasped, all laughter forgotten. "But… but…" He turned around and looked at the others. "I hate to ask, but does anyone have a spot of chocolate?"

* * *

"What happened then?" Hermione asked, leaning forward in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Nothing!" Ron hastened to say.

"Ron ate almost ten chocolate frogs – that's what happened," Harry interrupted him, grinning from ear to ear.

Hermione chuckled. "You were right. I really needed to hear that story."

Smiling, Harry nipped at his hot chocolate and watched his two best friends banter. In the end, the day hadn't turned out to be as bad as he had thought it would.


	38. Chapter 38

**_*Written for THC, Year 3, Round 10*_**

 ** _House: Ravenclaw_**

 ** _Year: 1_**

 ** _Category: Drabble_**

 **Additional Requirement:** _A sad occasion/moment/emotion_

 ** _Prompts:_** Jealousy

 ** _W/C: 722_**

 ** _Beta(s): 2D, AJ_**

* * *

Hermione didn't like the glances her boyfriend was throwing at her. She could see that it bothered Ron how easily she got along with Awil Aluola, the new superstar in the Quidditch world. They'd met at a Ministry event, and he'd invited her and Ron to a game. Now they were at the after party, and while Ron was always a little awkward around the Quidditch idol, Hermione and Awil chatted ever so easily.

Hermione knew that Ron was only jealous, but she wasn't about to let him ruin the evening.

As the party came to a close, Hermione made her way through the crowd to find Ron. She finally spotted him talking to a brunette girl on the couch, their legs touching. An unsuspecting pain stabbed at her, but she brushed it aside.

"I'm going home now," Hermione informed him with forced casualness.

"Alright," Ron replied. "I'll follow in a bit."

Hermione nodded, determined not to let his behaviour hurt her. Ron had changed after the war. He'd always been jealous, but now he'd also become arrogant. The parties, the press, the fan girls, all led him into thinking that he deserved the glory and the fame. Hermione hated it when he played the hero card to get into restaurants or events.

Finally home, she made herself some tea and waited for her boyfriend. Only half an hour later, the door to their apartment was unlocked.

"Mione," Ron greeted her. His face lacked the smile that had, once upon a time, been reserved for her. "What a party, right?"

Hermione chose not to answer, fully aware of how cold her demeanor was. Suddenly, she realised that that had become the new 'normal' for her and Ron. A coldness had crept into their relationship, destroying it from within.

"Cheyenne invited me to a show," Ron added, as if trying to provoke a reaction out of her.

Hermione watched him closely. He seemed to wait for a question, and she was not prepared to have another fight now. So she said _Ah_ , emptied her cup of tea, and stood up.

"She's a model," Ron said, pouring himself a cup of tea. "Pretty famous. You _must_ know her."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "I don't."

"I thought since you have Awil now, you wouldn't mind."

She froze on her way to the sink, turning around slowly. "What do you mean?"

"What? You're allowed to be jealous if I make a new friend, but I'm not?" Ron said, his voice harsh and aggressive, clearly out for a fight.

"I'm not jealous," Hermione replied evenly. "And Awil and I are just friends, Ron."

"I'm a hero now, Hermione," Ron continued as if she hadn't said anything. "Girls want me. I could have anybody. Isn't that the reason you stay?"

His words had meant to make her jealous, to hurt her, and they did. Did he think so little of her that she would fall for fame and good looks? Maybe when she'd been thirteen, but not now. Under his facade, Ron was still as insecure as he'd been as a teenager and the only way he could handle it was lashing out at her.

"That doesn't matter to me, Ron," Hermione contradicted, trying to calm the coming storm, but it was like tilting at windmills.

"Then leave," he snapped, ignoring her words again. "I don't need you. I'd find a new girlfriend in a heartbeat."

The cup slid out of Hermione's numb fingers. She barely noticed how it crashed to the floor and broke into pieces because it was her world that shattered simultaneously. _I don't need you._ The words echoed through her mind, and she knew they were true. A part of was aware that he pushed her away on purpose to see how'd she react, but she had enough of his games.

"Fine," Hermione replied with a finiteness that hurt. "Then I suggest you do that."

All colour drained from Ron's face as he realised what she meant. He might've thrown these words at her to hurt her, but not because he actually wanted to end the relationship. It had been a test, provoking her, bending her until she snapped, but enough was enough.

"Hermione, I–"

She didn't listen. Her entire being was consumed by an all-encompassing grief that gutted her.

 _It was over._


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: This story is an AU set in an unspecified time, possibly 8th year. You're welcome to solve the riddles together with Harry, Ron, and Hermione - so don't scroll ahead!  
**

 **Two riddles are taken from Tolkien's _Hobbit_ and one is attributed to Einstein.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

"Why did I agree to this again?" Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione entered the unremarkable white house in the outskirts of London.

"Because you're a great friend," Hermione replied with a smile. "And don't tell me you don't miss it – working together, solving riddles, finding a treasure…"

"When have we ever found a treasure?" Ron threw in.

Hermione elbowed him. "This time, we will! It said great prizes could be won. And we want to beat the other teams, don't we?"

"Yeah, but –"

"At least, we're at the right place," Harry interrupted their bantering.

A large sign with violet script _The Most Magical Escape Room - The Houses Competition_ welcomed them in the entrance hall of the house. A young witch greeted them. "Welcome! You must be Team Gryffindor."

The trio nodded.

"Great. Ravenclaw and Slytherin have already arrived at their locations. We're still waiting for the Hufflepuffs. When everyone's checked in and ready, the competition will begin."

* * *

 _Fifteen Minutes later._

The door closed behind the trio with an ominous _click_. A red timer above the door instantly started the countdown.

 **2:59:59**

They had three hours to solve the riddles to get to the other side of the labyrinth and find the treasure. They were competing against three other teams: Luna, Padma, and Mandy from Ravenclaw; Draco, Daphne, and Theo from Slytherin; and Hannah, Justin, and Susan from Hufflepuff. The winner would receive a hundred points for their house.

The trio exchange meaningful glances, then advanced into the room.

* * *

 **1:15:00**

"Finally," Harry groaned. "That spell work was really tricky."

They'd reached a circular room with five doors in different colours; a violet, a blue, a white, a golden, and a silver door. Suddenly, a Sphinx appeared in front of them.

"To find the right door, you have to solve my riddles," she explained. "Every riddle you solve will exclude one door until the right door remains."

A smile brightened up Hermione's features. "Let's hear them."

The Sphinx's gaze snapped to her. "So eager. Fine. Let's start with an easy one:

 _It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,_

 _Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt._

 _It lies behind stars and under hills,_

 _And empty holes it fills._

 _It comes first and follows after,_

 _Ends life, kills laughter."_

"What?" Ron stuttered.

"It ends life… so _death_?" Harry speculated quietly.

"Is that your answer?" the Sphinx asked.

"No!" Hermione exclaimed quickly. "Harry, don't you ever read? It's the _darkness_."

"Correct," the Sphinx nodded, and the silver door disappeared. "The next one, then:

Imagine, there are 5 houses in five different colours; in each house lives a wizard with a different nationality. These five wizards drink a certain type of beverage, have a certain wand and keep a certain pet. None have the same pet, the same wand, or drink the same beverage. The question is: In which house does the German live? These are your hints:

 _The Brit lives in the red house_

 _The Swede keeps bats as pets_

 _The Dane drinks tea_

 _The violet house is on the left of the white house_

 _The violet house's owner drinks coffee_

 _The person who has a vine wand rears owls_

 _The owner of the yellow house has a hawthorn wand_

 _The man living in the centre house drinks Fire Whiskey_

 _The Norwegian lives in the first house_

 _The man who has a cherry wand lives next to the one who keeps cats_

 _The man who keeps winged-horses lives next to the man who has a hawthorn wand_

 _The owner who has a willow wand drinks Butterbeer_

 _The German has an ash wand_

 _The Norwegian lives next to the blue house_

 _The man who has a cherry wand has a neighbour who drinks water._ "

Hermione grinned at the Sphinx. "I love riddles." Then she conjured a piece of paper and set to work; five minutes later, she exclaimed, "It's the _violet_ house! The German lives in the violet house."

"Correct," the Sphinx said again. "Only two more. Are you ready?"

The trio nodded.

" _This thing all things devours:_

 _Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;_

 _Gnaws iron, bites steel;_

 _Grinds hard stones to meal;_

 _Slays king, ruins town,_

 _And beats high mountains down._ "

"Oh, I know this one," Harry suddenly exclaimed before Hermione could open her mouth. "I did read _The Hobbit_ , just so you know."

"And? What is it?" Ron asked pointedly

" _Time_."

The Sphinx nodded. "Correct."

Now only two doors were left. The white and the violet one.

"The last one," she continued, "Three witches were sitting in at the foot of a mountain. Their names were Truth – she always tells the truth, Lie – she's always lying, and Wisdom – she does both. A wayfarer asked the one on the left: "Who is sitting next to you?" "Truth," she answered. Then he asked the one in the middle: "Who are you?" "Wisdom." Lastly, he asked the one on the right: "Who is your neighbour?" "Lie," she replied. And then it became clear who is who."

"I can solve this," Ron announced. "I won't let Hermione brag in the end that _she_ solved all the riddles."

"Go on then," Hermione smiled, already knowing the answer.

"Well, if Truth were sitting on the left, she wouldn't lie about her neighbour's position. If truth is in the middle, she wouldn't lie about herself; that means, she has to be on the right. Therefore, Lie is in the middle… that makes Wisdom at the left."

"Correct," the Sphinx said, and the white door disappeared.

Hermione's mouth fell open. "That was brilliant, Ron!"

"Don't sound so surprised," he grinned, and, together, they walked through the violet door.

* * *

 **00:22:00**

Finally, the trio had reached the last room of the game. There were four chests in front of them: a red one, filled with galleons; a green one, filled with potion phials; a blue one, filled with books; and a violet one that contained a rusty key.

Before, they could examine the chests, the ghost of an old man appeared.

"You reached the last challenge of our competition and may now choose your prize.

You have strength and you have power, intelligence and courage, too,

but is there wisdom in you?

Judge rightly and be wise,

only then, you'll win our prize."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Another riddle. Great!"

"One chest will make you rich and not even your children will have to worry about money. The second chest will give you power; it contains potions to strengthen your magical and physical abilities. The third one will give you knowledge beyond measure. And the last contains the portkey back to Hogwarts. Which chest do you desire?"

"Money!" –

"Knowledge!" –

"The portkey!" they exclaimed simultaneously.

"You can only choose one chest," the ghost reminded them.

"Okay, give us a minute," Harry said, then turned to his friends. "Which one should we take?"

"The left one," Ron said instantly. "Wouldn't it be great to have more money than Malfoy?"

"Don't be daft, Ron. This competition is not about money. I'm pretty sure it's only leprechaun gold and will dissolve in a couple of hours," Hermione contradicted. "We should take the books."

"Of course, _you're_ saying that. But there are more important things than books and cleverness," Ron replied.

"Hermione's right, Ron," Harry said slowly. "Besides, I have enough money as it is. The ghost said we should choose wisely. I don't think either money or power is a wise choice."

Ron bit his lip, but nodded. He could see Harry's point.

"But knowledge _is_ wisdom!" Hermione argued, stepping towards the blue chest, but Harry stopped her.

"Knowledge doesn't make you wise. Look at Helena or Rowena Ravenclaw."

"But –"

"I know you'd love to have that chest. But the ghost's just tempting us. It's not the wise choice," Harry explained.

Hermione and Ron stared at him, a little surprised.

"Fine," Ron agreed first, and Hermione nodded, too. "Let's take the violet chest."

Expectantly, they looked at the ghost.

"Wise choice, you three," he said, smiling. "I think we have a winner!"

* * *

 _ ***Written for THC, Year 3, Round 10***_

 _ **House: Ravenclaw**_

 _ **Year: 1**_

 _ **Category: Standard**_

 _ **Additional Requirement:**_ _ **Ravenclaw, Wisdom**_

 _ **Prompts: [Colour] Violet**_

 _ **W/C:1,339**_

 _ **Beta(s): AJ, Elaine**_


	40. Chapter 40

**Written for the QLFC, Season 6, Finals – Round 2.**

 **Position: Chaser 3**

 **Quote: #5 Somehow the silence seemed to connect us in a way words never would.**

 **Optional Prompts: (location) edge of a cliff, (phrase) in my heart, The belonging you seek is not behind you; it is ahead.**

 **Title: The Sound of Silence**

 **Word Count: 1,502**

 **Beta(s): Alice, Bailey**

* * *

 _The Sound of Silence_

* * *

 **May 1998**

Draco woke with a scream on his lips and terror in his heart. His panic was so great that he almost didn't remember how to breathe. He'd dreamt that the Dark Lord had found him, Hermione, Ron, and Harry in their tent that stood on some god-forsaken cliff in Wales.

After they'd stolen the fourth Horcrux, the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, they'd come here to plan their next steps. So far, they hadn't got anywhere. Even Draco couldn't help them. Yes, he'd known how to evade the _Geminio_ and _Flagrante_ charms, had known how to trick the goblins and persuade them that they were really Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy, but he didn't know how to _find_ Horcruxes.

After he'd defected during the Easter holidays – or more correctly, run away to avoid being killed by a white-faced monster – he'd step-by-step started to help the Golden Trio. Not that he liked them, especially Wonder Boy, but there are some things you can't share without ending up trusting each other. Breaking successfully into Gringott's and destroying a Horcrux is one of those things.

Still panting heavily, Draco surveyed his surroundings, painfully aware of every movement, half-expecting to see Voldemort, an outstretched wand, and a green jet of light. He could make out the darker shadow of Hermione outside, keeping watch. He was safe. _Safe_.

Merlin, he'd forgotten what _safe_ felt like.

It cost him enormous effort to control his breathing, to stifle the sobs in his throat. He didn't want to wake Weasley and Potter or alarm Hermione.

Draco's mark seemed to be burning a hole into his skin, and, with a pained gasp, he gave into the pain. Hastily untangling himself from the bed sheets, he stumbled out of the tent. Cold, humid air hit him like a punch in the face, but it cleared his mind from the remnants of the nightmare.

 _Everything is okay. It was only a dream_ , Draco told himself.

The icy spray of waves crashing against the cliff covered his skin and clung to his clothes. However, it helped a bit against the fiery pain, it sharpened his senses.

"Draco?" He could feel Hermione behind him and realised he'd run to the very edge of the cliff. There was nothing but dark ocean in front of him, bleeding into a purple sky.

"It's okay," Draco replied in a muffled voice. She didn't need to hear his fear.

"No, it isn't." She reached for his left arm, turning him around. "Let me see."

Quickly, Draco stepped away, pressing his arm protectively against his body. His Dark Mark pulsated with darkness, and he didn't want her to see it. It felt like a stain or, worse, a physical deformity that told the whole world about his mistakes.

Hermione didn't let herself be deterred, however, and forced him to stretch out his hand. There it was, almost jumping at them with its hideousness – the ugly, black skull in crass contrast to his white skin.

Hermione only winced slightly; then, she asked in a controlled voice, "Does it hurt?"

Draco nodded with gritted teeth, unable to hide the pain that was raging through his arm. Every wave of pain had him gasping for breath.

"Nightmare?" she speculated.

Draco flinched back, pulling his arm out of her grasp. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through him, and he thought he might pass out. Dark spots danced in front of his vision.

"Breathe, Draco," Hermione said calmingly, but she didn't make the mistake of touching him. When Draco didn't react, she added, "It happens to me too, you know. My chest is so tight, I can't seem to be able to push air into my lungs… if I see a knife, or after a nightmare."

Draco gritted his teeth. He hated what his aunt had done to her, and he hated that he hadn't done anything about it.

"What did you dream about?"

"About _him_ ," Draco finally replied. "I– I feel like… I think he _knows_. Maybe I somehow betrayed our location; maybe he can locate me; maybe –"

"Shh," Hermione interrupted him. "He can't. It was nothing but a dream."

But Draco felt so sure that Voldemort would find him – _them_ – and torture them. It would be _his_ fault! Each second that passed, the Dark Lord might have found out a way to track his Dark Mark; each second that passed, he could show up here and raise hell on them. Draco was endangering them the longer he stayed. But he had nowhere else to go. He knew he'd be dead within a week if he were on his own.

"But …"

"If he knew, then Harry would know it, too," she said reassuringly.

Draco sighed, not entirely convinced, but he couldn't win that argument right here and now. Besides, something about her presence calmed him. He tried to tear himself away from her sight, how she stood there at the edge of the cliff with him, the sea behind her a black mirror, the wind tousling her hair. For the first time in his life, Draco thought she looked beautiful. Not that he suddenly liked bushy hair or her goody-two-shoes attitude. No.

But she made him feel _safe_. Maybe it was because she could forgive him and trust him unconditionally. Maybe it was because she tried to make him feel better, even though he hadn't deserved it. Maybe it was because she gave him kindness when he expected hate, protected him when he expected an attack.

Something in his heart twisted, and he realised that he couldn't deny it any longer. He actually liked her, really _liked_ her, not just endured her company.

"I believe you," Draco finally said. "Come on, let me take the next shift. I won't be able to sleep anyway."

"And let you keep watch all by yourself for another night?" she bristled, but let herself be led inside the protective circle.

"I'm good."

She shook her head. "When was the last time you slept properly? And don't get me started on your eating habits."

"I'll manage," he answered barely audible.

"No, you don't and that's the point," she hissed, her eyes fiery again. "You're not coping with what happened, you're only blaming yourself, hating yourself, but… but you saved us, don't you know that?"

"Maybe I saved you from a threat I created. Have you thought about that?" Draco hissed back.

"Don't be daft. Without you, we wouldn't've destroyed the Cup," she contradicted heatedly, but quickly hushed her voice to not wake the two boys.

"You don't know that," he sighed. Arguing was pointless. She wouldn't convince him that he hadn't exposed them to danger with his mere presence and that one good thing somehow redeemed all the bad things he'd done. "I know in my heart that, one day, you'll regret trusting me. One day, it'll be my fault you get hurt, and then you'll hate me again. Better I just leave before that."

"Draco." Something in her voice froze him. Her hand found his hand. "You're not leaving us. I know you feel like an outsider, and…" She shrugged. "I guess you are in some ways. But... you're our _friend_ now, and that means something. The belonging you seek is not behind you; it is ahead."

"You don't know me. How can you be my friend, then? How can you talk about belonging when we both know it's too late for me?" He stepped away from her. "You only see what you want to see, the good things, not the evil and cowardly side of me. You paint me a hero I'm not, Hermione. And if you saw me for who I really am, you'd despise me."

Anger flickered across her face, but her words were not the accusations he'd expected. "Nonsense. You are _not_ evil, _not_ a Death Eater, you are neither cruel nor cowardly," she said. "How can you believe that you…?" She hesitated for a second. "You deserve kindness, and love, and friendship, and protection. I can't take your self-castigation any longer, your self-loathing. I can't take you hurting yourself."

Draco blinked at her, and, for an altogether different reason than before, his chest felt tight. He certainly didn't deserve _her_ , that much was sure. She wanted to be _his_ _friend_ , she offered him a way out of his dilemma, of being between sides. A way to belong.

Suddenly, the night didn't feel so cold anymore.

"Okay," he whispered, defeated.

A half-smile tugged at the corners of her lips. They both sat down on the blanket, and a comfortable silence wrapped itself around them. Somehow, the silence seemed to connect them in a way words never would.

It was much harder to find somebody you could be silent with than to find somebody to talk. Draco found that somebody in Hermione, and he was glad.

 _Maybe that means we are_ real _friends…_

That was Draco's last thought before he drifted off to sleep, his head on her shoulder.

* * *

 **The Title is adopted from _Simon & Garfunkel._**

 **Thanks for reading ;)**


	41. Chapter 41

**Written for QLFC, Season 6, Finals - Semi-Finals**

 **Position: Chaser 3**

 **Position Prompt: "Red Right Hand" by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds**

 **Optional Prompts: (character) Minerva McGonagall, (word) Authorize, and (object) the Sorting Hat**

 **Title: Left Forearm**

 **Word Count: 1,418**

 **Beta(s): Bailey, Aya, Angel, CUtopia**

A/N: Shifted Timeline AU. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Left Forearm_

* * *

Tom Riddle sat at the Slytherin table for the Opening Feast, the Head Boy badge pinned proudly to his chest. No one deserved it more than him, and, as the heir of the greatest Founder, it was only right that he had the title in the first place.

He watched dispassionately as the youngest children in the school were sorted, mentally taking note of the new students from good bloodlines that proved to the Sorting Hat that they deserved to be in Slytherin.

There was Avery's younger cousin, a Selwyn, and, to Tom's delight, Walburga Black's younger brother Alphard. Yes, there was a good crop of future followers being shoved right into his lap, all his to groom and manipulate into good little soldiers.

Tom spent the rest of the ceremony inwardly sneering at the known blood traitors and obvious Mudbloods when their surnames were called. He longed for the day he could do it outwardly. But with Dumbledore and those watchful eyes of his, he had to cloak his prejudice in arrogance and apathy.

The whole lot of them didn't deserve the privilege of sitting with the rest of the magical students. They shouldn't have even been allowed at the school at all. The sight of the Sorting Hat being placed on their heads like they had the same right disgusted him and only fueled his drive to push forward with his cause.

Tom glanced at a few of those in his circle, dipping his head slightly to give them the signal. They knew what it meant. There would be a meeting tonight after curfew, and they had to be aware of it. Anyone that chose not to show wouldn't be worthy to be a follower of the greatest wizard of all time.

It was going to be in the Room of Requirement, a secret room completely unknown to the rest of the school. He wanted to make sure it stayed that way. Those of dirty blood didn't deserve the knowledge of such a wonderful secret. They didn't even deserve magic.

Tom let these thoughts fester in his mind while the pomp and circumstance continued. _A complete waste of time_ , he mused; all of it was rubbish compared to the ceremonies and speeches _he_ would give some day.

* * *

The ceremony was finally over, and a Slytherin Prefect – he couldn't be bothered with remembering their name – showed the First Years around, so Tom could roam as he pleased without the worry of constant questions from the younger students.

Soon enough, it would be more than just his corridor because he was Head Boy… it would be his corridor because he had taken over the school. No...it would be his corridor because he had taken over the world.

Tom basked in the knowledge he possessed, the methods he utilized to get to this position. No one was the wiser of his activities over the past few years, even if that fool thought he had an inkling of Tom's intentions. He was blind to the power that Tom held, the strength of Dark Magic that pulsed in his veins.

He had no idea that Tom had already taken his first step toward immortality - and all it had cost was an ugly little Mudblood and piece of his soul. Let the old fool try and stop him. Dumbledore would meet his end at the tip of Tom's wand. Mark his words.

He glanced at the scenery outside, picturing it a bit darker with heavy clouds and his own personal insignia etched across everything. There would be no hiding from him. They would know his name, every single one of them. It would be a name to fear.

The arrogance seeped in his bones, and Tom didn't want to get rid of it. He knew exactly what power and ruthlessness were hidden beneath his schoolboy cloak. One of these days, everyone else would know it too.

Feeling that the moment for thinking was over, Tom spun on his heel and left for the library to retrieve something important for the meeting later, his robes billowing behind him.

* * *

Tom had stayed in the library longer than he intended. No matter, it was perfect for his timing. Everything still worked out for him, as it should. He walked down the darkened hallway, not seeing anyone else pass by him. Good. No one would be in his way as he headed to the seventh floor.

Then the sound of someone else's shoes tapping against the floor reached his ears. The footsteps sped up when they spotted him. Tom grinned. Nothing like intimidating a younger student to get ready for his meeting.

The first thing he noticed was her eyes. The green in them stuck out against the black in her hair and the shadows of the night. He would never mistake that stern look on her face with anyone else.

"Strolling after dark, Minnie?" he drawled. "You brave Gryffindor."

Minerva sucked in a breath, her lips pursed in a thin line. For a Fifth Year, she was mature, but she was also a thorn in his eye and a filthy half-blood. He couldn't tolerate either.

"I'm on patrolling duty," she replied curtly. "Seeing as you're not doing anything you should be doing, you're not authorized to be out after curfew, Riddle. I must ask that you return to your quarters immediately."

 _Ha!_ She had gall telling him where he was authorized to be. It would do nothing, though. This was _his_ school.

"I'm afraid that my authority trumps your authority, and I say that I'm exactly where I should be." Tom stepped towards the dark-haired witch, towering over her figure easily. Minerva slowly backed away, and he followed until he had her pinned against the cold stone wall. "I _authorize_ you to try and stop me. I would love to see how well you fare with the consequences," he whispered menacingly.

Before she could reply – and Tom was positive she had something else to say – he pushed by her, purposely shoving the younger witch with his shoulder as he did so. He was quite pleased when he heard her retreat rather than dog his heels.

She knew her place. After this meeting with his followers, everyone else would know their place too.

* * *

As Tom strode into the Room of Requirement, all talking ceased. Pleased with their reaction, he sank into the stately wingback chair at the front of the room. A dozen faces looked back at him, full of adoration, fear, or a mix of the two.

Avery, who was hiding in the back, had nearly failed Potions their first year. Tom had sweet-talked, bribed, and distracted old Slughorn until the boy managed to slip some of Tom's own potion into his cauldron for the final exam and therefore squeak by.

When it was over, Tom had wrapped his arm around Avery's shoulders, told him what a good boy he'd been, and promised Avery could wait to return the favour. He was living proof that emotional blackmail could build a loyal army.

Lestrange stared back at Tom, unconsciously rubbing his new watch. Tom had known that it would be the perfect little token for the boy's seventeenth birthday last month, mostly because there's no way his own negligent parents would have thought to give their second son a coming-of-age gift.

A single gift to rekindle the pitiful boy's dreams of acceptance; it was pathetic, really. It hadn't taken many of Tom's pilfered Galleons to purchase the boy's devotion; it probably even made Lestrange think he cared.

Mulciber had been easy to win over – the promise of power and violence had seduced him. Thankfully for Tom, blood lust was easy to manipulate and impossible to sate.

Every person in that room had been driven to Tom's side by his own influence and power. He was their guru, their ever-present ghost, their king above men. Soon, he would be their god.

"Friends," he called, though they were little more than his pawns. "I told you this day would soon arrive. Come, see what your loyalty has bought you."

Heads craned to watch as he pushed up the sleeve of his black cloak, coated in dust from the library. To their surprise, the clean-cut Head Boy's left forearm was covered by an ugly, intricate tattoo.

They gasped as the black snake wound its way through the mouth of the skull, radiating incredibly Dark Magic.

With an ominous grin, Tom hissed, "Who's first?"


End file.
